я слышала - поговаривают

я слышала, что  истина  в  вине,
припрятана  почти  у  дна  бокала...

но  только  я  её  там  не  встречала
ни  разу  в  жизни...   именно  в  вине.

а  может  прячется она в  мечтах
узора  сна  таинственной  вуали...

иль  проецируется  прямо в мысль
из недр неведомых галактик?

а может скрыта истина в росе?
сверкая бликами с  травинок?

иль  долго пролежав на дне озёр:
дождём стекает в нас и с каждой каплей...

а может истина заложена в душе:
внутрь тканей душ вплетаясь  изначально?

или звучИт нам  в соловьиных трелях?
в раскатах грома? скрыта в стрелах молний?

сияет в искренних улыбках детских?
иль в накативших облаках печали?

иль удалённо,  проскользнув небрежно,
в нас проникает через  взгляды встречных?

как  думаешь?  она  сокрыта  где?

а  может  истина  действительно  в  вине,
но  просто  то  вино - не  попадалось.


другой вариант первой строчки:

"Молва гласит, что истина в вине".

перевод:

Rumor has it (I heard)

жанр баллады неофолк.

The Hidden Truth

[Intro]
(Ooh;ooh, ooh;ooh)
Where does the truth lie?
Tell me, where does it hide?
(Ooh;ooh, ooh;ooh)

[Verse 1]
I’ve heard the truth lies in the wine,
Almost hidden at the glass’s bottom line.
But I have never found it there, you see,
Not once in all my years—no, not in wine.

[Pre;Chorus]
Or maybe it’s concealed inside a dream,
Behind the veil of night, a secret seam.
Or cast into the mind from worlds unseen,
From depths of galaxies, beyond what’s been.

[Chorus]
Is it in the dew that sparkles on the grass?
In every blade that holds the morning’s glass?
Or in the lakes, where rain has long been stored,
That drips into our souls, one drop, one word?

Maybe it’s woven deep within the soul,
In the very threads that make us whole.
Perhaps it sings in nightingale’s refrain,
Or hides in thunder’s roar, in lightning’s pain.

[Verse 2]
Does it shine in children’s honest smiles so bright?
Or dwell within the clouds of sorrow’s flight?
Or slip inside us through the strangers’ gaze,
So quiet and so swift, in passing days?

[Pre;Chorus]
We chase the shape of truth in every sign,
But it keeps shifting, just beyond the line.
A whisper on the wind, a fleeting gleam,
The quiet riddle of a restless dream.

[Chorus]
Is it in the dew that sparkles on the grass?
In every blade that holds the morning’s glass?
Or in the lakes, where rain has long been stored,
That drips into our souls, one drop, one word?

Maybe it’s woven deep within the soul,
In the very threads that make us whole.
Perhaps it sings in nightingale’s refrain,
Or hides in thunder’s roar, in lightning’s pain.

[Bridge]
So tell me now—where could it be?
What secret does the universe hold for me?
Is truth a thing we find, or one we make?
A path we walk, a choice we dare to take?

And maybe, yes—the truth is in the wine…
But that particular wine? It never crossed my line.

[Outro]
(Ooh;ooh, ooh;ooh)
The truth is near, the truth is far,
A distant star, a fading spark.
(Ooh;ooh, ooh;ooh)
Still I keep searching, in the dark.