Чёрное и Белое Black and white

                (Translation into English is provided below)

           * * *


Ах как прав был Господь как прав - Не творите себе кумиров
Сколько скошено было трав... сколько предано было милых...

Но потеря не каждым из нас понимается как потеря
иногда просветления час с ней стучится НЕвдруг в наши двери

Не бывает случайных встреч и... случайных разлук не бывает...
Жизнь -  есть таинство... Таинство -  смерть ...
циклически замкнутый круг... его идущие вверх -  разрывают

Мир исполнеН оттенков тонов и цветов - ими властвуют звуки и чувства
Если знаешь тебе - что то свыше дано...- на чёрное и белое не дели искусство

Кто коснувшись странного будто в пропасть падая
ищет грани разума спасительного края
тому  блистать искусстно чёрно белых рамок ужас сознавая...

                ***          
                Питерка
        * * *

Black and White
By Piterka Badmaeva Olga

Oh, how right was the Lord, how right—
“Make no idols for yourselves.”
How many fields of grass were mowed…
How many dear ones were betrayed...

Yet loss is not always understood as loss,
Sometimes, the hour of enlightenment
Knocks upon our doors
Not suddenly, but in its own time.

There are no chance meetings,
And no chance partings...
Life is a mystery, and mystery is death—
A cycle unbroken,
Yet those who ascend—
They shatter its loop.

The world is filled with shades, tones, and hues,
Ruled by sound and feeling.
If you have been given a gift from above—
Do not divide art into black and white.

For those who, touching the strange,
Feel as if they are falling into an abyss,
Seeking the edge of reason,
A grasp on salvation—
They alone may shine in mastery,
Knowing the terror of black-and-white frames.

Piterka     * * *


Black and White
By Piterka Badmaeva Olga

   * * *

Oh, how right was the Lord, how wise—
"Make no idols for yourselves."
How many fields of grass were mowed,
How many dear ones lost to lies...

Yet loss is not just loss alone—
At times, through pain, the light appears,
And when it knocks upon our door,
It comes not sudden, but through years.

There are no chance encounters here,
Nor partings written by mistake…
Life is a mystery—so is death,
A cycle none may overtake,
Yet those who rise may break its thread,
Ascending past its endless wake.

The world is filled with shades and tones,
With colors breathed by sound and art.
And if you've been bestowed with sight,
Do not divide the whole apart.

For those who touch the strange unknown,
As if the void pulls them inside,
Who seek the brink of reason’s edge,
Yet grasp at nothing to abide—
They, shining bright, may learn to bear
The black-and-white frames filled with dread.

    * * *

Piterka & Guru.I