Инари ра - лунный серп ru-en

Алмазный серп сквозь облака серебряно плывёт,
А в призме жизнь ломается - дробясь сквозь зелень вод.

Из сада ветка снежная вбегает  мне в окно
И тает перед чашкою, дымящей на стекло.

У капель тяжесть сонная - на розовых шипах,
И тонко пахнет зеленью и почкою в слезах,

И выпискою радостной из  тысячи больниц,
И ветром обнимающим сиянье бледных лиц.

Вновь занавесок кружево - ладонью гладит ночь
И серп небесный дымкою от нас несётся прочь.

© Inari Ra, The RF Writers' Union member, 2021


An adamant crescent stil flows through they sky,
Its essence of merit is so undenied,
In deep prisms of life all the depth hide in green,
The silvery lining is higher than themes.

From gardens of snow this vernacular trace
Is taken as far as the rhythm of face.
A cup of warm tea and a fog of its warmth
Still glows in the shadows of whispering growth.

These drope are so heavy, these dreams are so sweet,
These roses have thorns, they will whisper in heat,
A wave of pulsation and beads of green grass,
A seasonal gap that gets harder to pass.

They leave all the hospitals, healthy and clean,
A weariness follows the sadness within,
These people rejoice on a fine brink of spring.
The dampness of moments so perfectly rings.

A pattern of lace in the night, lightly touched,
A shadow of warnings, so fruitful and large,
This lace looks like new and it dances within
Unfollowed by crescent that thoroughly spins.

© Translated into English by M.Tchianova, 2021