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Victoria Myron Jan 2019
Our love is the flower
Which blooms on the unknown mountain.
Our love is beautiful.
Never picked and displayed in the imperior's palace,
Never put down to the soldier's grave.
Our love is swinging in the wind.
Our love is opening the petals to the sun.
Our love is always glad if it rains.
Our love never fade in the imperior's vase,
Our love never wither on the lonely grave.
Our love will give seeds
Like others,
Like others.
Our love is the flower,
Wild flower.
Victoria Myron Sep 2018
Gold, gold, gold-we are enchanted
cold cold cold - ... almost immovable

shiksa sings songs, sings songs softly,
how the willow rustled and the petrel screamed


Золотом, золотом, золотом объяты неудержимым
холодом холодом холодом- видишь почти недвижимы

шикса поёт песни- тихо поёт песни
как шелестела ива и клекотал буревестник

Victoria Myron Aug 2018
My Teacher is silent and strict.
My Teacher feeds me in upbringings.
My Teacher caresses like wind,
My Teacher is full of his Feelings.

My Teacher's a nascence, an end.
My doubt is My Teacher and sure.
My Teacher is art to refrain,
My Teacher is art to be pure.

The Doctrine is simple and hard,
The Doctrine is stable and driven.
The Doctrine that evil allowed
To make all my blessings be given.

Учитель мой и строг и молчалив,
Учитель мой взращает и питает,
Учитель мой ласкает как прилив,
Как ветер нежно обнимает,

Учитель мой- рождение и смерть,
Учитель мой-сомнение и ласка,
Учитель мой- умение терпеть,
Учитель мой-безумие и сказка.

Учение и сложно и легко,
Учение и твёрдо и безбрежно,
Учение-дозволенное Зло,
Учение- что Благо неизбежно.
Victoria Myron Jul 2018
One more pair sweet hands of mother,
One more pair of eyes to love,
One more pair of eyes to find them,
One more soul to be above.

Cradle, saddle, war and hollow,
Pond of darkness, silent bay.
Give me, Life, a friend to follow.
Give me, Life, a voice to say.

Victoria Myron Jun 2018
Where can we find a haven?
Because I'm on the road
Let dusk to dim the heaven.
My feet don't feel the load.

Hides fates between the rocks
Your Island of the lea
My Seaborn poet, once
You will come back to me.

Victoria Myron Jun 2018
Look at me.
I'm here
Your chair.

Touch me.
Never mind my absence.
My Love is the evidence.
My Voice is the silence.

Touch me.
The veins on your hand
Is the best thing I've seen
The Life in them runs...
So exciting!
So thin!

Look at me.
Time is the sculptor
Creator of culture.
Be prepared.
Be repaired.
Just be.

— The End —