The soul

//перевод стихотворения «О душе» Ксении Ващенко

Be filled up with this air, with this sound of waves,
As if you made of clay, and of echoing storm,
As if God brought you out of the darkest place
And his hand was suddenly rough and warm...

And he took you carefully, silently, and disembark
Like an ancient amphora, like a forgotten name.
How did you sleep right here in this stunning dark,
Until he walked with you through the seashore plain?

Salt on the earth, heaven's water, the years have passed,
In a long sleep, where the silence and breath have fused
Where is your soul? And why does it have no past?
But there is you – restless, bewildered and confused.

Where is your soul? It is light and warm, green and glossed,
Where does it laugh and cry, wait and tear apart?
Where is your soul? Why should it be so gone and lost,
If even a golem suffers the emptiness where there is no heart.

Like a strayed sailor, catching the guiding light,
Like a poor king, clutching a pearl from the bed of the sea
«Where is my soul», – I lie and think all the night,
Again and again. And then I feel – it returns to me...

7 апреля 2025.