How to tell you this, my love,
About that which words don't say,
Because the words that I mangle again
Are not those that your forefathers
Rolled off their tongues, bringing meaning
To a series of sounds – a line of images,
And that's why you will hardly understand
The speaking freely of my streams
That I knit, enchanted by you,
And losing word parts like a leper...
But nonetheless I can not stop...
Namelessly indebted to Universe
Are my palms – there live a moment
Of memory of touches of you.
10.09.14г.
(Full moon night at Svetogorska street)
*все переводы - попытка перевода своих стихов
http://www.stihi.ru/2014/10/26/7003
How to tell you this, my love
© Copyright: Кирилл Сафонов, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115012409802
Свидетельство о публикации №115012409802
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