To Pushkin 1-9. In Pushkin strophe

"Before the hut there are two rowans",
And in the rowans - sparrows sit.
I was awakened in the morning
By these madcaps and their trills.
Not having slept enough, I got up,
I found out about this Contest
So I decided to write words
In my notebook in Pushkin's verse:
That when I'm reading lines of his -
Then I forget about all sadness:
What always wonderfully inspires me -
The Poem of Pushkin streams,
It may revive, relieve, redeem,
And fills the sleep within a dream!

2
"What ardency awoke in me!",
When I was reading Pushkin's lines.
It’s like a gift that was revealed
Where the century's Gold shines,
And like the sun, people's hearts burned,
And entered into every soul
By his great strophe always teaching,
And answering to the beseaching.
His merry-making is non-stop,
He always plays by a new turn,
Now being prim, and then intriguing,
And in the height always ringing,
He still astonishes, runs through,
A fidget after all, anew!

3
And by the new Sun which may blind
The world awakens for the life
And Pushkin's verse brings, as a code,
Love to the Homeland and the folk,
In it the river is encrypted
Where the miraculous line feeds us
As the Live water of the spring,
Which makes us young, inspiring.
"Peace upon you, dreads of the past!"
Now I look at you with a smile.
In everyone the Pushkin ply
Has left a playful mark at last.
The light of past melancholies -
The sound of glorious melodies.

4
"A camel lies in the cliff's shadow."
Nightingales whirl over the slopes.
Near the stretch - the feed of cows -
The works of nature are as follows:
Wherever you look - land's expanding,
The game of colors, liberty.
The Beauty everywhere relaxing,
And in Her - love's solemnity.
In ugliness the evil powers
Are still retaining all their charm,
To streams of fields they snuggle up,
And to the Luminary's flows,
The sun caresses them in turn,
Since it takes notice of all.

5
The closest to the sun - the hills,
"Mashuk, the giver of healing flows",
Where water streams run from the cliffs,
The base of life in Macrocosmos.
That's how the Life-giving Strophe
Of the Great Russian pen exolts,
Thus sanctifying former life
Transforming it to eulogize.
And carried forth to present times
Its life-giving primordial force,
Like Spirit,coming from the Cross,
As from the grave, the poet cries:
That in Strophe Poetry's alive!
And that's the Strophe of Pushkin's style.

6
Bach is a rivulet. Also in him
The number Fourteen is - the holy power,
Life-giving code is concluded in it,
For all musicians always so inspiring.
"Rejuvenize - although for a moment,"
That was a constant dream of any poet -
To fulfil this - the Strophe made a prompt,
Opened Her temple, like celestial hall.
And there, She Herself will lead a poet,
Her vigil over Beauty is so strict.
All of a sudden there he weds a Dream,
And the whole world around is transforming.
That's how the Sun through Pushkin Strophe
Is playing with the Russian soul.

7
"I'm young, and life in me is strong" -
That's how the renewed exclaims,
And then the Thaumaturgic Strophe
Attracts him to Herself again.
He rushes back to the bright shrine,
There're fourteen gates as beams of light,
The stanza's leading him again,
To the new rooms in the new place.
Where weaves the bright spirit for him,
And dresses up in the new clothes,
And with New Joy puts wedding crowns,
And leads him out with more sheen.
There life is like eternal game.
And Pushkin Strophe is its name.

8
"The Time is flying, but an awful score"
Is not so soon presented by the Lord.
But later everyone gives a report
With whom he has been playing and what for.
Among the verbal creatures, their games
There is one game that's burning as a gem
As an eternal ghost always shines,
Allures, magnetizes and invites.
To Her own style She changes any rhythm.
Her influence is irreversible,
Resistance to Her is impossible,
Under Her lead a poet is blindfold,
And guided by invisible Pushkin Strophe.

9
"That's how it was over the icy Neva"
And it took place two hundred years ago
The miracle will happen again, dear,
Because the Strophe is going to show
That She is just the tool of Transformation,
Where we are just the creatures of  the Language,
Where he's - a father, and the Strophe-  a mom,
We are their children, daughters and the sons.
And now, while experiencing Joy,
I'm going to repeat it for nine times.
That I get burned and I rejuvenize,
And in the melting furnace I dissolve,
And it is not the Grandma Yaga's stove,
But it's the furnace of the Pushkin Strophe!