Somewhere in the middle of a Desert

—- авторский перевод —-

In the bleached whitish sky
I am flying on a bellied pelican,
contemplating from above
a pastoral landscape
and I’m writing these lines.

Below are small people
on the slopes of a small hill
in the small groves
are making small love.
Unaware of the big people,
who are making a huge love
in the big groves
on the slopes of a tall mountain.

In the distance, you can see smeared cypresses
and Lebanese cedars,
and scrolls - Psalms of David.
They may heal diseases, twigs,
and rat bites.
And the rearrangement of the mysterious letters in the Kabbalistic text,
which are secrets of my secret.

The sweet pink pulp of fresh fig
in purple and burgundy colors
comfortably resting on a platter with a scorpion seal.

Shulamith,
the hot stones of the Judean desert are under your feet,
on the way to the Temple, which is washed with expensive blood or a cheap one.
(choose as you wish...).
Could I find you in the torn apart Petrograd?

Forgetting myself,
I am weaving fate from a rope of lasso.
How beautiful you are, Fata Morgana.
I'm hiding in a blue papyrus,
plunging forever into Nirvana,
for the next hour and a half ...

9.2019. NYC