Having dumped from myself as a tatter
the doubts and fears,
I will come out to you, having passed through the era,
On the last of stops,
As on a dawn executioner's block,
In a white shirt -
I wait, I hope, I believe!

Do you know how they breathe before a miracle?
With a room for growth,
Catching by their nose an image by a scruff of neck.
My dear genius,
A swarthy heavenly degenerate,
Who let you to the world of feelings,
Having pulled all your teeth out?

People hurry for work –
They're not be able to see you.
There is haste in the air
Flits in a colorful plumage,
Veins as slings,
Supporting the patience,
They strained till aspiration,
To over tension.
By an anthem of delight - not possible to offend you!

Yes, I am blessed, I know,
My life is a miracle:
To see "the dressed in sun"
Between block bulks,
Each of your dawn
Scarlet astringent heap,
As if Judas, so cheap,
Sells me in a camera of tortures –
Under your sight.

I wait! Under chugging of seconds
And under happiness - "She!"
I wait, as mad,
Decided to kidnap Yarila's bride.
Which pagan prayers
I didn't hesitate of force,
That by myself to touch the bottom of your soul!
But chasm, depth,
As from below - up from a grave.

Who knows you, angel?
Parents? Girlfriends?
Who silently, secretly turned you into a domestic life
Of his evenings?
Did they see
As your hair whip
Your elastic neck
With a golden hit at dawn?!

I didn't count the cracks on your lips,
I didn't try to find myself
In your eyes...
But I invented you as a woman,
Capable to be unsolved!

As a great secret of nights and dreams,
As to a blind man guide, and good luck to a talent,
If you knew what kind of facet you sharpen
For me from an unearthly beauty of yours!

O, inhabitant of heaven...
What can I give you, except a grief,
If myself I am not an owner
Of own soul violence?
My love to you –
A mesozoic wild field
With some furious tyrannosaurs of feelings!

Be emptied, poets! All is transitory.
I give the millennia for a look!
What is our life if not some blissful dawns
At an edge of night on the very brink?!

Vladimir Oxikovsky