The tide
Like the fermented bread
Swelling the high tone of a silent surge
Overwhelm the high wall
Penetrate the night
The claw of the stars
Like the dancing vine
Climbing the gentle cloud on a sheltered body
Fly over the mountain
Tap the darkness
Your snore
Sewing beyond the silk curtain
The moonlight trembled in the apex of a leaf
The wind blows
Rolling the echo of the ear
In the dream you cry out Lermontov and Pushkin
Under the blue sky
The white birch of Caucasian
Sounds loud and high
Your dream talk
Tying the ribbon of the folded bed sheet
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem