I’m not impostor - I’m a-coming home,
I’m not a servant, asking for a crumb -
I am your passion on a Sunday noon,
Your Seventh day, your Seventh moon.
They took me for a beggar, there, on Earth,
And tried to strangle with their ropes,
Beloved! can’t you see who I was ?
I am your Psyche innermost.
Here, my Beloved, all my rags for you,
Once they were tender flesh I knew -
All has been worn out, I’m afraid,
Only two wings remained.
Please dress me in your splendour once again,
Have mercy on your long-lost friend,
And rotten rags that I disdain
Send to the vestry.
1918/2011
* * *
Психея
Marina Tsvetaeva - Psyche
© Copyright: Виктор Постников, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111120905142
Свидетельство о публикации №111120905142
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