The wood seems to be tired.
Preparation of all alive to the lingering somnambulist.
Disturbing feelings of forthcoming separation, loss.
The last elaborate trees apparel in yellow-orange-purple colors.
Autumn had sewed to the trees exclusive sundresses.
And they flaunt, as if brides at the fair.
But tomorrow they will be shamelessly naked
by the severe husband November.
…Hard, gray-haired tresses of grasses had stretched along
a cooling down body of the earth –
the old mother-wet nurse.
Bustle of all alive. It’s no time to run into a stupor
with silly contemplation of the rash nature’s changes.
The senior brother of November is even more harsh.
Struggle for a survival comes from subconsciousness...
Cold lead jets flow downwards from the sky-watering can.
The empty, decomposed bird's-nest-caps are based upon
forgotten old pegs-antlers.
Sensation of the cold, the fallen asleep unreality…
Like winter landscapes of Brueghel.
Only fur-trees as an old maidens-votaries are majesticly quiet.
The God is mercy.
He had allowed them not to remove the green dresses.
And tomorrow the house-keeper of November will cover
the traces and marks of marriage-night
by white sheet.
Birches, maples, aspens will fall asleep at last…
Till the Spring...
Good deep poem, everything seems to be deeper in Russia :) the forest, the winter, even the poets are deep in thought :) I imagine the Winter Landscape with a Bird Trap by Pieter Bruegel and I was sure there will be the birch in your poem :) . I like the romantic image of November. Best regards, Onelia
Truth of Nature is well stripped off in verses pure white as winter in Russia! Nice depiction of coming cold season!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A moving composition with Russian autumn. Enjoyed this poem with amazing metaphors,10 for it.