Bezmelnitsin's Gallery :: Denis Bezmelnitsin : "Hill of Shrubs"

Denis Bezmelnitsin

Hill of Shrubs
On the field where hoary grass
Lies as a smoke, enthralling glance;
And trickles on her silvery chant
Glistening beneath the sun.
And thus there is a hill of shrubs
Where groweth briar red as blood;
And on the shade side of a hill
Old willow droops over the rill -
The brook of tears of her sorrow,
That flows amid the sedge to pond of morrow
Which indeed is just a dream,
A faint vision of unseen
Reflected in a splatter of a stream.

By strange and changeable means
Appears what is set to be:
In quiver of the leaves,
Or hiss of bug flying by,
Thus everywhere loom the signs.

I call to thee, O brooded cloud,
Through night and day roam thou.
You know what is under the moon;
You hearken to the stars in gloom.
The secret of night dreams to me expound,
The key for it on me bestow.
But cloud only shy'd away
As foam doth fade from wave.

I asked the wind fanning from the North,
Show me the temple of your birth;
But he only raised the dust and dissolved
Having left me with no response.

Then severed shadow from me, stayed,
Strode aside and spake,
"We all are servants of the God,
We all submit to His behest and word;
Do not abide in dim
Ignorance... ask Him!"

March 2016