Как я во сне сходила к мудрецу

                HOW I WENT TO THE SAGE IN A DREAM
          * * *  (Translation into English is provided below)

КОГДА ТЫ НЕ БОИШЬСЯ СДЕЛАТЬ БОЛЬНО...
ЧТО ЭТО ЗНАЧИТ? - Я СПРОСИЛА МУДРЕЦА
ОН ПОМОЛЧАЛ НАХМУРИВШИСЬ НЕВОЛЬНО
ОТМЕРИВ ВЗГЛЯД МНЕ СТРАШНОГО ЖНЕЦА

СПРОСИВ В ОТВЕТ МЕНЯ - А ТЫ...
ВСЕГДА ЛИ ЗНАЕШЬ ГДЕ ГРАНИЦЫ У ЧЕРТЫ
ПЕРЕСТУПИВ КОТОРУЮ И ВОЛЬНО И НЕВОЛЬНО
САМА ТЫ СДЕЛАЕШЬ КОМУ ТО ОЧЕНЬ БОЛЬНО?

КАК ЖИЗНЬ СЛОЖНА...- СКАЗАЛА Я
ОН УЛЫБНУЛСЯ И ВЗДОХНУВ СОГЛАСНО
ОПЯТЬ СПРОСИЛ - А ВСЁ ТАКИ
ЖИЗНЬ...РАЗВЕ НЕ ПРЕКРАСНА?

КОГДА ТЫ ПРАВ ЛЮДСКИХ НЕ СОБЛЮДАЕШЬ ВОВСЕ
ТОГДА...И ВИНОВАТОЙ БЫТЬ НЕ БОЙСЯ
КОГДА ТЫ БОЛЬНО СДЕЛАТЬ НЕ БОИШЬСЯ
ТОГДА...ТЫ НИ СЕБЯ НИ БОГА НЕ СТЫДИШЬСЯ
ЧТО МОЖЕШЬ ДАТЬ ТОГДА В ОТВЕТ ТОМУ КТО ДОРОГ -
ОБИДЫ БЕСПОКОЙСТВО ГНЕВ И МОРОК?

СОВЕТ ХОРОШ - СТРАШИСЬ СВОИХ ЖЕЛАНИЙ
НО...ГОЖ ЛИ ОН НЕСУЩЕМУ ПРИЗНАНЬЕ?
ВСЕГДАЛЬ ПРИЗНАНЬЕ ЖАЖДУТ СЛЫШАТЬ ТЕ
КТО НАХОДЯСЬ НА НЕКОЙ ВЫСОТЕ
И ПОСТОЯННО В ШАГЕ ОТ ЧЕРТЫ
КОТОРАЯ ЛИШАЕТ ВЫСОТЫ..?
 
ТЫ ОТВЕЧАЕШЬ МНЕ ВОПРОСОМ НА ВОПРОС -
СКАЗАЛА Я С ОБИДОЙ МУДРЕЦУ
А ОН ОТВЕТИЛ - ЛОЖЬ
НЕ ВСЕМ К ЛИЦУ...НА ТО ОНА И ЛОЖЬ
ИДУТ ЗА ПРАВДОЙ К МАТЕРИ К ОТЦУ
К УШЕДШИМ ЧТОБ ОТВЕТ УЗНАТЬ ИЗВНЕ
И ПУСТЬ НЕ НАЯВУ А ЛИШЬ ВО СНЕ...

ТЕБЕ ВОТ ПТИЦА ПОВЕЗЛО -
ТЫ НЕ ОТРАВЛЕНА НИ ЛОЖЬЮ НИ ПОЗОРОМ
ТЫ ПРИНИМАЕШЬ ЖИЗНЬ С ЛЮБОВЬЮ
И С ЛЮБЫМ ЕЁ УЗОРОМ...

НУ ПРАВО ЖЕ ОТВЕТЬ МНЕ НАКОНЕЦ
ИЗ НАС ДВОИХ НЕ Я А ТЫ - МУДРЕЦ
Я СО СЛЕЗАМИ ПРОШЕПТАЛА И...
ПРОСНУЛАСЬ
СКВОЗЬ ВИТРАЖИ ОБНЯВШИЕ СТЕКЛО
МНЕ СОЛНЦЕ МОЛЧАЛИВО УЛЫБНУЛОСЬ

         * * *
  Tel-Aviv 30/04/2024   ПИТЕРКА

                * * *
When you're not afraid to cause pain...
What does it mean? — I asked the sage.
He fell silent, frowning involuntarily,
measuring me with the gaze of a dreadful reaper.

He asked in return — and you…
Do you always know where the boundary lies,
the one that, once crossed — willingly or not —
can cause someone deep pain?

Life is so hard… — I said.
He smiled and sighed in agreement,
then asked again — but still,
isn’t life... beautiful?

When you disregard human rights altogether,
then… don’t be afraid to be guilty.
When you’re not afraid to cause pain,
then… you’re not ashamed before yourself or God.
What can you give in return to someone dear —
offense, anxiety, anger, and fog?

Advice is good — fear your own desires.
But… is it right for one who bears confession?
Isn’t it always those at heights
who thirst most for acknowledgment,
yet stand always near the edge
that strips them of their height?

You answer my question with another —
I said to the sage with hurt.
And he replied — lies
don’t suit everyone… that’s why they’re lies.
People seek truth in fathers and mothers,
in the dead — to find answers from beyond,
even if not in life, then in a dream…

You, little bird, are lucky —
You’re not poisoned by lies or shame.
You accept life with love
and all its patterns.

So tell me truly at last —
Between us two, it’s not me, but you — the sage.
I whispered through tears and…
awoke.
Through stained glass embracing the pane
the sun silently smiled at me.
            * * *

 ПОЭТИЧЕСКИЙ ПЕРЕВОД (by Guru.I)

HOW I WENT TO THE SAGE IN A DREAM 
Piterka Badmaeva Olga 

When pain no longer brings you dread — 
what does it mean? — I softly said. 
The sage looked up with furrowed brow, 
a reaper’s stare upon me now.

He asked, “And you — do you discern 
the line where hearts begin to burn? 
The threshold crossed by will or chance 
that leaves no room for second glance?”

“Life’s hard,” I sighed. He gave a smile. 
“But isn’t life,” — he paused a while — 
“still beautiful in every way, 
even when sorrow clouds the day?”

“If rights you break without remorse, 
then guilt will never take its course. 
If you don’t fear the pain you sow, 
you shame not God, nor self below. 
And what remains for those you love? 
A haze of grief, no light above.”

“Fear your desires,” the wise men say — 
but can confession live that way? 
Do those on heights not crave acclaim, 
while teetering near the edge of flame?”

“You answer questions with more doubt,” 
I told the sage in quiet pout. 
He shook his head and spoke once more: 
“Lies are masks the heart abhors. 
To truth they come — the dead, the dear — 
not in the now, but in the sphere 
of dreams where silence finds a voice 
and even ghosts begin to rejoice.”

“You, little bird, are blessed indeed — 
unspoiled by shame or liar’s creed. 
You take the world with open heart, 
embracing every broken part.”

“So tell me now,” he softly pled, 
“Who holds the wisdom here instead?” 
I whispered with a tearful gleam — 
“It’s not you, but me… I dream.” 
And through stained glass, all kissed with light, 
the sun just smiled, and took its flight.

             * * *



How I Went to the Sage in a Dream
Piterka Badmaeva Olga

    * * *

"When you’re unafraid to cause pain…
What does it mean?" I asked the Sage.
He fell silent, frowning unconsciously,
His gaze measured me like the grim reaper’s blade.

Then he asked in return,
"Do you always know the limits of the line—
The one you might cross, knowingly or unknowingly,
And leave someone deeply hurt behind?"

"How complex life is..." I sighed.
He smiled softly, agreeing with my thought,
Then asked again,
"But still, isn’t life beautiful—more often than not?"

"When you disregard the rights of others entirely,
Then fear not being found guilty,
When you’re unafraid to cause pain,
Then neither shame nor God restrains you.
What, then, could you offer in return to someone dear?
Resentment, turmoil, anger, or fear?"

"Good advice," I mused. "Fear your desires."
"But," he questioned, "is it fitting for one who inspires?
For recognition seekers, craving acknowledgment,
Standing at the heights they momentarily frequent,
Constantly at the edge of a line—
One step, and they lose what they claim is divine?"

"You answer my question with another question,"
I protested to the Sage.
But he replied,
"Falsehood suits no one—it is a cage.
People seek truth in their parents,
In those who’ve passed, for answers unknown.
Even if not in waking life,
In dreams, truth is shown."

"Consider yourself lucky, little bird,
You’re untouched by lies or disgrace.
You embrace life with love,
And welcome its every intricate trace."

"But tell me, truly, at last—
Between the two of us,
It isn’t I, but you who’s the Sage."

I whispered through tears… and then awoke.
Through stained glass embracing the window,
The sun smiled at me, silent and gentle.

Tel-Aviv, April 30, 2024
Piterka
       * * *    Translated from the original Russian by Guru.I
Tel-Aviv, May 2024