The icon lamp of Moon is extinguishing afar in the chipped end crust... A storm already dominates City for a few days, now and then for a short time calming down and with renewed strength loosening the vault of mussed up skies. I feel similarly doubtfully... the soul is wide-opened, persecuted somewhere by winds of antagonisms, apprehension on a bottom is barely appeased... The almost unnoticeable drizzle of rain whitens surrounding space; a grey and uninteresting day runs to the end with the same liquid sprinkle, and getting drowned in the waves of evening. To sink a melancholy... to disperse a sadness... to tear cuffs of uncertainty! To deafen the voice of lacerated by winds heart...
Silence... Today I wonder - why I want to be quiet, to grasp this instant and sway it in my hands, to look, as wet leaves fall to sleep behind a window... Wherein my sleep repairs wonderful tent and calls, calls... Air swings, wind plays something monotonous... It’s our eternal “talk about anything” and about “everything in the world” with it, it lasts until a lantern burns in a nearby court, while little shades of house-goblins roam cubbies...
It’s to guess or mention? It’s to get to know or feel? Some shove... Here an outwardly useless scrap burned up under the hands... I did not peek here for a long time... No, not that... It’s much farther... Seems... strange... such acquainted feeling... No, it can not be... But, nevertheless – making an attempt is not difficult. And then you’re simply alive, not expecting, not knowing, until… Reflection of mirrors is everywhere variously untruthful - the reflection of His face can not tell a lie. I know it probably... See... I see impassable loneliness of my childhood, when a look talks and breathes and hopes stays maybe just by a tip, a secret corner, free form the enormous shade of Fear. I see the reflection of my vigorous youth, when it is so desirable to change everything, when the real warmth is so wanted, that you’re ready to accept anything just following a faith and call it by the name of Love. I see my nowadays: aged wine of Disappointment which could be called wisdom, until... Until the storm of Sense did not come flying, while light of living Hope did not light up, again, in spite of everything prior...
Voice of your silence... Loud and strong... it recovers the voice of wind; it sounds as unison of storm in space of my skies... My nature talks the language of your silence... So a long ago... It’s so strange to learn to talk the language of people, to talk beautifully and distinctly... but to hear other voice inside myself... so deeply...
I’m falling into the sky of rapid morning sleep... drifting off for a moment... Listen... Early birdies twitter the language of your silence and the pale face of Moon hides in lights of before-sunrise sky... The solid color of greenery sounds as the endless tuning fork of your silence... And I repair strings of the unhinged lyre of Orpheus, try to remember its primordial tune... Remember...
The world is broken on night and day, on pros and cons... It is somewhere, but not here... Here, it is folded into Universe... by the language of your silence...
Translated by Iouri Lazirko