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Vyas May 2020
~ Vladimir Burich ~

The circle of head is inscribed
in the angle of elbow

No need
to prove
anything
Vyas May 2020
~ Su **** as rendered into Russian by Igor Golubev ~

Rain and stream were singing all night
Their droning, mournful tune.
Morning breeze blew in its rhyme,
This may have frightened the moon.
So lackluster and sad are all things,
At least, that's what they seem.
I'd really love to take a few sips
From the clear murmurous stream.

I'm on my way, and I'm worried or bothered with nothing
In my lonely, lonely boat - through the splashy waves it is cutting.

I walked all around the wall,
It's a distance of thirty li.
And everywhere, far and near, I saw
Shiny colors going bleak.
Only thickets of reeds spread out like seas
Whenever you throw an eye.
I'm steering my boat, and it appears
Like a petal, frail and light.

I'm on my way, and I'm worried or bothered with nothing
In my lonely, lonely boat - through the splashy waves it is cutting.

Hardly seen is the fisherman's hat,
Almost lost amid the reeds.
Snowy white bush of his hair
Also peeps from under it.
I'd really love coming closer to him
To say my hello – alas!
I've scared seagulls just to see
The fisherman vanish at once.

I'm on my way, and I'm worried or bothered with nothing
In my lonely, lonely boat - through the splashy waves it is cutting.

Nature's breathed a new life by breeze,
Into all kinds of things it went
And into what we love and bond with,
Of which, alas, there's no end.
I came ashore whilst wind and boat
Kept on arguing, muffled by reeds.
The river's torrent rapidly tore
The reflection of clouds to bits.

I'm on my way, and I'm worried or bothered with nothing
In my lonely, lonely boat - through the splashy waves it is cutting.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpbsEwbdCnE
Vyas May 2020
~ Vladimir Burich ~

I listen
to the heartbeat of the pillow,

see
the mirror's
silent echo,

ponder
about the fish
from the prehistoric ocean

with the idea of human being
in their stomachs.
Vyas May 2020
~ Joseph Brodsky ~

Stars didn't go dark yet,
Stars were where they belonged in
When roosters were waking up and
Shouting throaty songs in
The hennery, perched ceremoniously.
...The silence died out,
Just like cathedral's quiet
Does with the first choral sound,
Echoing gloriously.
Having abandoned warm blankets,
Grouchy and half-sleeping,
Plowmen harnessed their cattle.
It was in the beginning.
The day broke as if a new egg,
Revealing the orange yolk, meaning
The sun was rising; a duet
Of skylarks
Must have been singing.
Roosters usually fancied
Grains of pearls over millet,
With their cockerel senses
They searched for them here and there.
They dunked into the dung, yet,
Grains did they reclaim,
Grains did they extract, and,
At sunrise, they would proclaim:
"We found them all by ourselves
And husked them with usual prowess,
So we’re boasting to everyone else
About this fortune of ours".
In this throaty chime,
Performed for eons,
Repeatedly,
I see the fabric of time,
Discovered by roosters unwittingly.

— The End —