Category: Yakov Shudrikh
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Alone
You never brought me white roses / yet the ground is white-bestrewn with them. / The entire earth is redolent of spring blossoms, / early spring blossoming on snow.
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On the White Hills
Smoke, a white smoke, floats on the white hills, / a whiteness that flies, scatters the snows. / No one comes now to pluck white roses, / so they fly into the air, whirl and twirl.
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Like a Young Doe
Like a young doe you ran off to the hills / to gather the scattered gold of summer. / Then tall grasses even wept at your feet, / and hills gulped their fill of gloom.
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Alone in the Woods
I stride around alone seeking to hide / my heart’s unease in the snow, the white snow. / Winds have fallen asleep in the rock-cracks / and the hills are silent, hushed and pale.
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Open Door
The wind suddenly threw open the door / and swept in a heap of leaves. / Sniffed, tugged at the curtain, / touched everything, stroked it with its breath, / and swiftly made its exit.
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How Everything Here Has Changed
How everything here has changed, the color transformed. / How lovely my city is, all spiffed up and adorned. / The red flags flutter down nearly to the ground / and for me every weekday is cause for celebration.
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With the Night
With the night my silky dreams dissolved. / With the night my quiet singing stopped. / With the day, my poem arrived swimming / on the storm with a fierce echoing sound.