Balmont - A Poet For Any Occasion Poem by Liza Sud

Balmont's a poet for any occasion.
Up to the witches and southern cross.
Up to ethereal Fatherland of Heavens
And to the ground and springs of the earth.

In sparks of fire, where they play with passions.
In water column, where cities are raised.
Up to sweet false pretense and the verb's absence,
Up to negation in the painful "Yes."

Up to the Sunday, where bright souls of children
light up again although they were deceased.
Until the moment, in which they burn clearly,
To become line, and eternal in it.

You are the leader and ghostly prophetic,
You are a blinding bright ruby for us.
You give us both a thought and a presage,
Expressing better than thousand powers.

Balmont, you were! There was all where you were!
And it is too hard to write after you.
You are in all sides of soul, in all lookouts.
In rhythm of yours - Russians can breathe in full!

You are chaste-pure and you are a tempter.
Androgyne you are, like yoni-lingam,
And you are talking like the Easter Savior.
To sacred shadows a co-clergyman!