The Martin Poem by Zamir Osorov

Nay only in the precious sleep
you will able, my dear,
ride on the cloud,
fly in the heaven,
touch to mysterious
fare-tale-dream,
take the ticket
for the train to heavenly Osh and Paris
you might only when you fast asleep.

But look for this happy bird,
hear me, martin might to sleep in the sky!
yes, sure in the same gardens
that have access for us
only in rare and marvelous dreams,
maybe one or two time coming to us,
what we are waiting for
all our lives,
this swift creature used
with such pragmatic and ordinary way.


Clouds for him
as a nice clean pillow for us,
winds blaring
As a feather bed
that nicely supports him
when he so sweetly slept
with widely open sharp wings.
And before absorbing by forlorn
he ascend to high in heaven
protecting himself from felling down.
Something similar we are done also
making bed on sofa conveniently and protective
save himself from slipping down
as it happened in childhood,
when we fall down
and awoken by unfogetfull nighmares
as if we were slipping to abreast.

O that marvelous wanderer of heaven,
he seems has joked by our dreams,
fears and eternal desires
to flying and reach the heaven
and using it so prosaic.

But one thing very curious for me.
if he would sleep in the blue height.
which the dream he have seen,
what about desired else
when he sleep right in the cloud
amid the our unreachable
immortal dreams, hopes and desires?