The Birth of Love

The bird – a red breast – taught to love the living.
Then, fully grey, he’d lived in Paradise.
He was a-sitting on a cliff – the wise.
And all his world was only laugh and trifling 

And he was thinking, this wise pygmy, winging,
“What’s all about? What singing am I?
I needn’t to love all – but the dear mine.”
And on his breast the scarlet came a-winning.

The little bird flew o’er a grayish plant.
In the first time, the scarlet touched carnations,
Roses and poppies – sea of scarlet light!

And blood with love streamed into every heart,
And dazzling lightnings, high skies’ decorations,
Send thunderstorms and rains in ceaseless flight    


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, September, 2003