Language Of Dry Leaves Poem by Uktamoy Khaldorova

In the woods liver
green blood is streaming,
The leaves sing folk songs
while dancing.
My body is filled
with green rays,
Let’s speak with me
in the language of the leaves.
The drops are the opened
secrets of the heaven,
The curious tender grass
picks up with pain.
The secrets can not be
housed in my sky,
Let’s speak with me
in the language of the rain.
The passed day maturity
will not come back.
A cloudy anxiety
is stretching to the heaven,
The life is stolen
by a horse with wings,
Let’s speak with me
in the language of the wind.
If an orphan leave lays
the head upon your leg,
The orphaned dreams
crystallize on its flower.
Do not come
with blue eyed grieves,
In the language of dry leaves
the words flame.