Spellbound Pilgrim Poetry Just For Pleasure

A Titmouse

A titmouse headed for the sea: the small bird bragged intending to burn the ocean. So it was rumored in the world. The residents of the Neptunian capital were frighten to death; birds flew in flocks; meantime the animals from the forests came running together to look how and whether hotly the ocean will burn. And even they say the desirous ones of hanging out in feasts were among the first to appear at the coast with their spoons so that to taste such rich fish soup to which by any bountiful leaseholder no bureaucrat was regaled.
Crowding: everyone kept silence and waited for a miracle beforehand; only somebody occasionally whispered:
“Here it’s on the point to boil, there it’s about to burn right away!”
It wasn’t to be: the sea wouldn’t burn. Whether it boiled at least? Also it didn’t boil. What did come of this big idea? The titmouse went home with shame; it got all worked up over nothing but never had burnt the sea.

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The Red Rue

Tell me please, where did you get the spell.
Without you I am a prisoner of grief all day long.
Maybe you had been looking for magical weeds
somewhere in woods, had found a rue
as yellow as the sun and bewitched me.
Just do not seek the red rue in vain in the evenings,
because in all honesty you are my only love.
I love only you, believe me, since your beauty
is like a pure torrent of water, is like rapid water
of the distant blue mountains. In my dreams
I see you at the green oak groves as you coming to me
by the forgotten paths. There is no need
in your fetching to me the herb of grace and of hope,
since long ago you have caught the fancy of mine.

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Somebody Errs, Somebody Said It

Somebody errs, somebody said it.
All of us have a varied luck.
Sometimes it seems to us foolish
which actually is easy and simple.
The white thing looks black,
the black one looks white.
We pick and choose somebody,
they pick and choose us.
How often it does not coincide.
I follow you like a shadow,
I’m getting used to
be an invisible person.
I’m accustomed,
I’m glad to see you.
You won’t know of it,
though there’s no need.
You won’t see and you won’t help,
what has not turned out all right
that cannot be corrected.
Happiness is such difficult thing,
sometimes it is farsighted
sometimes it is short-sighted.
The white thing looks black,
the black one looks white.

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A Woodcutter And An Oak

Once some zealous woodcutter
who was so to speak a master of his craft
made up his mind to cut down an ancient oak
so that a mistletoe wouldn’t grow in it.
In consequence of it now the bleak winds blow there
where sometime was the tree.
Well, certainly you may fight with an evil in the world
but please let life alone.

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Changes! We Wait For Changes!

Instead of heat there is the glass’ green, instead of fire there is smoke, a day is snatched out of the calendar grid. The red sun burns down completely, the day burns down with it, the shade falls on a flaring city. Changes! — demand our hearts. Changes! — demand our eyes. There is: Changes! — in both our laughter and our tears, and in the pulsation of our veins, — We wait for changes!

The electric light continues our day, also there is an empty match-box, yet gas like some blue flower burns at the kitchen. There are cigarettes in your hand and also tea on the table — this scheme is so simple, there is nothing more, all is in us. Changes! — demand our hearts. Changes! — demand our eyes. There is: Changes! — in both our laughter and our tears, and in the pulsation of our veins, — We wait for changes!

We cannot brag of wisdom of our eyes and skillful gestures of our hands, we do not need all of it so that to make out each other. There are cigarettes in your hand and also tea on the table — the circle is complete, suddenly we become afraid to change something. Changes! — demand our hearts. Changes! — demand our eyes. There is: Changes! — in both our laughter and our tears, and in the pulsation of our veins, — We wait for changes!

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I Was Caught In The Net By Love And Poverty Forever

I was caught in the net by love and poverty forever.
Even being poor wouldn’t bother me,
if there were no love in the world.
Why destiny-the separator is always a hindrance for love?
And why love is a slave of prosperity and success?
After all, riches and homage bring little joy,
therefore I’m sorry for both cowards and fools
whose hearts are conquered by their force.
When your eyes shine in darkness, I lose my mind,
yet there is a piece of advice on your lips to keep prudence.
Only that poor fellow with his ingenuous love
is happy in the world who is not envy at all of rich class.
Oh why, the cruel fate is always a hindrance for love
whose flower wouldn’t bloom without fame and success?

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Yes, You Have Kept Your Word

Yes, you have kept your word:
without moving any gun or a single rouble
the native Russian land enters its own rights again.
In consequence having forgotten about the short-lived shame
the sea which was bequeathed to us
kisses the native coast with its free wave.
That one is happy in our century,
who was victorious not by blood but by mind.
That one is happy, who was able to find a pivot in oneself,
who full of cheerful patience combined calculation and courage —
now would restrain one’s aspirations, now would dare in due time.
Whether was confrontation over?
I wonder if your mighty lever will overcome
perseverance of clever men and absurdity of fools?

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I Experienced Persecution And Grieved Inconsolably

I experienced persecution and grieved inconsolably.
But even in the bitter moments someone comforted me.
Someone’s hand was laid upon my shoulder,
someone whispered to me like rain:
- Man, calm down,
you will live till happiness comes true!
In the world there is very much evil.
Wicked scum are there in prodigious number,
but there is another road, and it is of good.
Playing flute without fearing foe’s arrows,
Goodness gathers up kindly people.
What for? For good deeds.

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