I touch you, I am your teacher,
In human, in humble view,
Creation, but not the creature,
I am returning to you.
The space is for me an ocean
And I share with you your shore;
Before the motor the motion,
But I was always before.
I have no tribe and no nation,
I bear the plight and the plod;
Creation before creation,
I was the playmate of God.
For Him, Who needs no assistance,
Is nothing narrow or wide;
His love is my proper existence,
I am His wisdom and bride.
Your hatred always abounded
In treachery and in sell;
You do not notice, confounded,
That I am with you in your hell.
I help you, and you still quiver
In penury and in war;
I try your tribe to deliver,
I open to you my door.
Are you my asylum leaving,
Where I about you mourn?
It’s dull, but you earn your living
By my, not by your return.
1995.
The song of Sophia
© Copyright: Владимир Микушевич, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112061309150
Свидетельство о публикации №112061309150
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