Friday Страстная пятница

I flied away then like a bird,
My hands I spread on cross  to both sides.
And is this possibility so close -
Above the pits of sin such a quick flight?

And people are like ants so little.
It is so simple to heal them, I think.
Each home is tiny like a trinket.
How could they not love one another in it?

I fly above Pacific Ocean
And under me the earth is just a ball.
It is in fog- there demons with devotion
mingle the words. enter in thoughts.

All the events – no matter good or evil -
like walls are flowing in front of me.
They now have no power to kill me,
I go to the rest it seems.


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And as  I fly – the air becomes warmer
and voices of cutthroats become smooth.
There under me the lots are thrown.
but and without gown it's also good.

And everything in yellow mass is flowing.
How to write the jewish words?
And nails are melted in my meat to bones.
What is the cross? - I don't remember cross.

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And sweat on elbow is burning on the right side.
What for am I here, where do they go?
In my right hand so much is bleeding wound.
And why it hurts? - it is pierced by a sword!

They put me question now for the right time:
What are your graceful deeds on earth?
It seems to me that there I saved someone.
And had to suffer for that undeserved.