Happy Birthday, my Love

(translation of Лученко Святослава "З Днем Народження, Любове моя!")

There are days that, as if prolongation of previous, are intertwining in tied braid of time, complementing, but changing nothing what could be significant. There are others – fragile and anxious, that shake your micro-world as though lightings... invert imagination away about everything, disappear in echoes of ideas. But the abyss of your chronology remains as though unchanging – everything goes, everything passes... I will tell you about days which emerge who knows from where, unforeseeable, predictable just by a strange silence which comes into your soul before their appearance. Is it possible to have such comparison - the desert hot wind, summer thundershower, white storm?
And this day, when you were near to beginning and end, as never before, when you began everything from a new line, when you knew nothing and was the wisest... Remember... Maybe then the thought struck you to look around in flowered by golden leaves park and see transparent, as a spider web, of Angel... he had strange figures and almost was in sync with the silhouette of the young Canadian maple... He talked to you with some strange, as chimera-like, ancient style built sentences... His voice looked like a rustle or a wind between leaves... Angel-Prophet, Messenger of Light, Guard... "it is so many names... so many words you have, people..." you felt instantly, as your blood bangs in temples, as unearthly words echo in the depth of heart... so-so...so-so... so... emptily... coldly... the words of angel sound much stronger, they are loosing sense – there is only voice, it sprouts through you, becomes you, fills... and now it is your pulse... sole... understand – to calm down it even for an instant – and that’s all...
The brightness comes into eyes; a yellow ray climbs under eyelids, blinks... Open up! «Good’s Child, peace with you! Do you hear? »
Golden hair and golden leaves... at the end the crust of extinguish evening spread paints everywhere - extraordinary paints...
- My Angel, was I dying? - Fool, you are born... today... truly!
- You talked something; I can not remember... something about Her...
- Calm down, you will remember everything. Now the remembrance of your heart is static. Your Love is written down on imperishable, thin, as a wing of butterfly, stone tablet. You will hear it each time, as you will hear the Heart, truly hear...
The spider web of the Indian summer caught up a light breeze, circled round and round in juicy sweet-scented air and flew away somewhere far, over-the-horizon of ripe sun. A young maple smiled with yellow-hot, as rust, little-leaves... Unheard calmness came from nowhere, somewhere on a bottom warm light start burning not as much with hopes - as with knowledge... of something secret and native. Your Love lighted up: yet not incarnated, not realized... but tender and careful... quite simple... it is so unusual... Returning home, walking on burning out from a passionate Sun park, raking up with feet disobedient tufts of leaves, you look as though with different eyes..: Someone bright washed the ”window of your world” with vision of everyday beauty and wonderful feeling of unity with the whole world...
Absorbing a particle of His warmth, you feel on lips forgotten smile and unusually simple words:” Happy Birthday, my Love! Happy Birthday, my Love!” And then, maybe after a long winter, after wandering, after grey and lonely nights, the sunny day will come, when She will remind to herself the words of Angel, expose her painful heart and find in it you and the way to you... This will be not knowledge, not feeling – this will be Reflection of Love, errorless and such simple, unintentional... A butterfly has two wings... Love has two stone tablets... interlace two in one Fates...

December 20, 2007

Iouri Lazirko
Copyright ©2007 Iouri Lazirko