Like Tears Poem by Sergey Dobrenkov

Upon a crag of sable, wave-worn stone
That rises sheer above the roaring deep,
A man stands bare to heav'n, and all alone,
Whilst thunder wakes what ages left to sleep.

The billows, rank on rank, in fury hurled,
Assault the rock, and, shattered, weep their spray
Up to his height, as though the hungry world
Would reach for him, and bear him far away.

The cold rain streams across his upturned face,
And fresh and briny mingle on his skin;
No eye can tell, nor any mind can trace
Which drops fell from the clouds, which from within.

Upright, he lifts his open hands in prayer;
Above him breaks the lightning, thin and keen,
And shows, in sudden white and silent glare,
His face—so sorrowful, and yet serene.

He shuts his eyes to hearken for a word,
And will not name the grief that gnaws his breast;
The thunder speaks, as if the heav'ns had heard,
Yet knows he not if 'tis reply or test.

The sea gives neither word nor sign; yet hark—
Deep calleth unto deep, and in his heart
A hidden sea replies amid the dark,
Where tears are rain, and prayers the lightning's dart.

Perchance no wall divides the heart from skies,
Nor parts the grief within him from the sea;
The world weeps through him, as it weeps through eyes
That open wide upon eternity.

Or else the sea, with monsters in the deep,
Needs no man's tears: its only tears are spray;
Not grief but hunger stirs it from its sleep;
It lies in wait to swallow any prey.

The storm passed on; the dawn came pale;
The winds withdrew from land.
The black crag shone with dying rain;
The sea grew strangely grand.

He stood alone, and on his face
The last drops lingered still—
Like tears that neither sea nor storm
Could name, nor ever will.