Помах крил Артур Грей Эсквайр анг. пер

Джерело - source - первоисточник перевода
http://stihi.ru/2020/06/22/6704

"Will I reach the roots of the kingdom
In which water was born and reaches its limits? "
       (Federico Garcia Lorca)


I fly between drops of never-ending rain,
That has started when
The Heaven has peeked into the candle
of the blue and deep sea
As a sorrow of loneliness.
That's enough to dive
In its dark depths
To the turtles of the stone philosophies
Of the Bearded Prophets of the Age of Machines -
The  Ones made of Cold Steel.
That's enough looking for the Sun -
This is the yellow eye of untimeliness
In stone labyrinths,
Built by the monks
Of the Black Faith Bon.
And I fly between the drops,
What are falling as heavy thoughts
From melancholic clouds,
Who have covered the sun -
From me - a sun worshiper,
Who's used to travel in search
Of Dawn - like a dream of dark blue colour.
The flutter of imaginary wings -
Which won't leave any shadows
Even then,
When the forgotten Sun peeketh out.