Music

Это перевод на английский Стиха Натальи Кижваткиной
 http://stihi.ru/2016/08/30/9143


What Music Was… 
What music was… so gently sad, 
Music breathed light both soft and glad, 
And could not breathe enough, it seemed. 
Music returned from lands that dreamed— 
From past regrets and aching pain, 
From lonely nights and silent rain. 
Music knew torment, felt so lost, 
Yet bore it all, no matter cost. 

Through every age, music stood lone, 
So fragile, tender to the bone. 
Yet loved with such despairing fire, 
Music never could expire. 
A weary shadow music cast 
Of all our sorrows, present, past. 
Yet always shone—a guiding flame, 
Through music, hope and healing came. 

Music lived in us, around, 
It pleaded, prayed without a sound. 
With tears, music would cleanse the soul— 
It grieved, rejoiced, and made us whole. 
What music was… what wonder lay 
In all it promised, day by day: 
What might have been, but never came, 
As life passed by without a name. 

And pain passed by, and hands, and eyes, 
And glances lost beneath the skies. 
While near us played the song of parting: 
“I’ll come again… someday… restarting.” 
What music was… what dreams it gave, 
And tears that quietly misbehave. 
The night was bright with sacred light— 
What music was… so pure, so right. 

Music promised, beckoned, forgave, 
It wandered, prayed, and still was brave. 
Music loved, believed, and stayed so strong— 
It was our soul. It was our song.