/English translation by Olga Volmyanskaya/
There is a breath of age
In gasps of ages,
And in the destiny of man,
In petal of a flower constellation.
There is a thrill of joy, creation of the world –
In every flower’s manifestation:
A thrill of birth, of love, of withering, and then –
The buds repeat the cycle of restoration.
This triad has produced a canvas
And nothing has been lost,
Behest, an inner sacred force.
The canvas – the triad is the bequest of age:
Through gasps of flowers to grasp the ages’ breathing,
In this I see the human’s reason
Sonnet 1
© Copyright: Лев Бляхер, 2002
Свидетельство о публикации №102122300022
Свидетельство о публикации №102122300022
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