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Свежий Номер

№ 8 (70), 2010

Стихи на иностранных языках

Светлана ДИОН

What’s the colour of love?
Does god cry?

Inscribed in eternal archives,
engraved in the blue horizons
there are pages of our lives
our truth diluted with lies...
initials of the fates
in letters of various sizes
follow the voyage of waves
that join into one tsunami
dissolving the sea into sky
erasing the earth — divider.
...the dictionary DIVINE
of destinies named like stars
of destines unaccomplished.
and surnames of our souls
embossed with a golden dust
shed traces of loss and loves...
all that’s left from us
when we equal to our past...
and water in our seas
shines with that golden dust
and tears are made of same —-
same salt dissolved with light
and I wonder: Does God cry
turning the pages divine?..
Does God CRY? CAN God cry?
IN Joy or in GRIEF like sky,
like mothers when children die,
like children when mothers die,
like lovers when lovers die,
like souls that long for the sky....
DOES God cry?
only thru us?
or when die the stars?
or when stars
stop shining inside us?
Yes... now I know why
(the grief of the loss
HE gave us the empty sky
the tearful fragile eye
and loves that will never die
and souls that will never fly
until our names inscribe
engraved in His sacred book
add one more unfinished life
one chapter yet to rewrite
by hand of THE HOPE DIVINE...
Оnly born into flesh can cry
are given the wings to fly
to endlessly roam the sky
that sheds pure rain
into earthly oceans of pain
salty waters of seas
taste like our mortal tears
and our waves ever shine
with mist from THE SMILE DIVINE...

Confession to eternity

Forgive me, Time! — For I have sinned…

Eternity! I seek retreat and shelter in the sky,
Forgive me, Time, for I have sinned: Enough is not one life!
And only in the endless sky am I beloved’s bride:
O! Be my witness there and sign our names, when we unite!
Not yours, my love, not even mine: belonging nowhere,
I am a forgotten empty shelf without books to share.
My heart! — By loneliness embraced: an orphan’s cruel fate!
And you and I, from far away still cry for love betrayed.
We long insatiable thirst for what we lost, unfound;
Hearts burnt by love, so merciless: not vows — by rumours bound.
And so I hope, for I can’t help: Eternity is life,
And if the Earth were to divide, the sky shall us unite.
So! I confess my mortal sin, forgive me with your smile!
O! Hear my secret, lonely Time: to death I love this life!
For I confide to you alone: I cannot bear my debt
Of being endlessly reborn Eternal mortal soul.

* * *

What’s the colour of love?
I do not know.
If I paint it white —
Then the purest snow
Will not shine as bright,
And the moon will glow
As a silver coin...
If I paint it blue —
Then the clearest sky
Will resemble dew,
Colourless and dry;
And if love is pink —
Then the morning rose,
If compared, will stink:
No colour is close
To the hue of love,
To that magic hue —
It’s a shade above
All the best in you...

The moorish moon (smile under a veil)

Tired smile of the sun saves the day;
the moon, only eyes, half-veiled,
glows teasing the sleepy earth:
night is young, day is old — all yours!
Sun’s passion melts in the waves.
Hills, envious, stare at the sea
as the night’s enigmatic embrace
takes the lover of each lonely tree.
My heartbeat, already an echo,
chases a rhythm of pulsating flamenco,
Never sadness so complete,
burnt like ice from my heart to feet.
And memory, all tears, shreds,
erasing without trace,
what it kept like a bridal dress,
timeless as the moon’s gaze,
Untouched, like a veil’s lace,
and only guitar understands
what happened this night for years
Under veil, with a smile, eyes in tears,
awaited a Moorish Moon,
praying it happens soon.
A shadow veil removed,
glows my Moorish Moon,
and shows its smiling face,
saved by this night’s grace...

* * *

I thank you for the rain that started late,
That ended with a silence of a promise
That I will once rewrite my own fate,
And life is not the saddest of all stories…

I thank you for the endless morning ride,
For empty road, for stopping in the middle,
For cutting sharp my loneliness and pride,
For making me remember how little

Remains unsolved, unanswered and unlived,
For making me believe, that Time, undamaged,
Erases deepest ulcers of the Grief,
For facing truth — my greatest, only challenge.

I thank you for the timing of your glance,
Coincidence of space and burning shyness,
For knowing that living only once —
Is tempting death by faith — her Royal Highness…

Sans titre

D’abord je ne vivais que seulement par toi —
Aussi longtemps — toujours il paraissait,
Aprиs il ne restait que le chagrin —
Aussi profond qu’il partirait jamais,
Voici les deux pour moi ne sont plus lа —
D’un coup vous deux ont disparu en l’air,
Et je ne garde а moi qu’un pur amour:
Sans toi, et sans chagrin, et pour toujours...
Aimer ou ne pas aimer?
Le choix йpouvantable:
On est donnй
A chaque destin —
Qu’un seul instant
Ou s’arrкte Le Temps
Tremblant d’Espoir…

S. C. Avril, 1111, 2001

Светлана Дион  — поэтесса, прозаик. Окончила университет в Нью-Йорке. Автор многих книг и публикаций. В 2010 году в издательстве «Вест-Консалтинг» вышла ее книга «Небесный почтальон». Живет в Мадриде.