My father s house

My father 's house, with three windows, blue in shade
Surrounded by white acacias in a row
Lonely grey willow is missing bowing with its cascade
A dear silver strand, like snow ...

The twilight dies into dark over the plain
In a circle of snow-white clouds
Which are scattered about the azure in a chain
And are surrounded by childish dreams throughout.

The road goes ever and ever on into haze
The garden orach preened itself after rain
Peace and quiet brooded over the space
And endless fields replace the plain.

The crust of bread with a garlic clove and salt
Along with groans of meadow steps
The memories painfully stretch and crawl,
The anguish from them pricks and racks...

The plumage of the owl is ruffled up,it hoots at nights
The moon hangs like a hunk of bread,
The heart is leaping in the breast jumping aside
Are you happy or extremely lonely instead?

On return long after midnight
I wish I cuddle on the earth
Playing hide-and-seek with the quiet
Overhear and would be devoted to the verse.

The stygian gloom is leaving,
The skirts are stepping their dance hiding by the stacks of hay
The sun furrow is weaving
And descending into the amber resin waves ...

Disturb the grass when barefooted
And let the inner melody sound in your mind
Cast an eye or take a long hard look
At things which do not lie.

Moscow, September, 22, 2020г.

Перевод стихов, автор А. Казачий. Ссылка на публикацию:
http://stihi.ru/2020/07/04/1864