TO MAYA
Over her head and rising higher
The flowers' sheaves, descends from hill,
She neared and stared...
Who are you?
-- Maya.
I am so grateful that you're here.
There -- madness in your eyes. The name is --
Immortal daydream of the world.
Intoxicated by your phantasms,
My head, by sultry sun, is whirled.
Come in and be.
Was from the fortune
Expecting news. And you brought in
Sunflowers and gorse's branches --
The torrid flowers of noon.
Let me descry you... Straight and glossy
Wave of your hair the forehead veiled.
The windstorm's radiance is racing
To curve up right above your head.
The smile your childish glance has narrowed.
Unchildish sadness touched your lips.
And by the chain of little diamonds
Above the eyebrow came sweat drips.
The goldish suntan graced its shadows
Upon your cheeks, touched by the sun.
Within these flowers... you ran...
All over in the white flame's halos...
Who are you? Child? Tsarevna? Page?
I am embracing the idea
Of you - the earth's noon mirage,
Illusion, sweet deception... --
maya.
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ÌÀÉÅ
Íàä ãîëîâîþ ïîäíèìàÿ
Ñòîïû öâåòîâ, ñ ãîðû èäåò...
Ïðèøëà è ñìîòðèò...
Êòî òû?
-- Ìàéÿ,
Áëàãîñëîâëÿþ òâîé ïðèõîä.
 òâîèõ ãëàçàõ áåçóìñòâî. Èìÿ
Çâó÷èò, êàê ìèðà âå÷íûé ñîí...
ß íàâàæäåíüÿìè òâîèìè
È çíîåì ñîëíöà îñëåïëåí.
Âîéäè è áóäü.
ß æäàë îò ðîêà
Âåñòåé. È âîò ïðèíîñèøü òû
Ïîäñîëíå÷íèê è âåòâè äðîêà --
Ïîëóäíÿ æàðêèå öâåòû.
Äàé ðàçãëÿäåòú ñåáÿ... Âîëíîþ
Ïðÿìûõ, ëîñíÿùèõñÿ âîëîñ
Ïðèêðûò òâîé ëîá, íàä ãîëîâîþ
Ñèÿíüå âèõðåì çàâèëîñú.
Òâîé äåòñêèé âçãëÿä óëûáêîé ñóæåí,
Íåäåòñêîé ãðóñòüþ òðîíóò ðîò.
È öåïüþ ìàëåíúêèõ æåì÷óæèí
Íàä áðîâüþ âûñòóïàåò ïîò.
Òåíü çîëîòèñòîãî çàãàðà
Íà ðàçãîðåâøèõñÿ ùåêàõ...
Òàê òû áåæàëà... âñÿ â öâåòàõ...
Âñÿ â íèìáàõ áåëîãî ïîæàðà...
Êòî òû? äèòÿ? öàðåâíà? ïàæ?
Òåáÿ òàêîé ÿ ïðèíèìàþ:
Çåìëè ïîëóäåííûé ìèðàæ,
Èëëþçèþ, îáìàííîñòü... --
ìàéþ.
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* * *
In this night, I will be a lantern
Inside tender hands of yours.
Don't you break, don't breath hard, don't stumble
Over the stony stairs.
Just carry me very gently
Through darkness of your chateau.
Our hearts'll be beating fairly
Anxious, whispering low.
In the cave of your palms, where
I am a tiny flame,
Will glow «iconer» ever,
Didn't you set me aflame?
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* * *
 ýòó íî÷ü ÿ áóäó ëàìïàäîé
 íåæíûõ òâîèõ ðóêàõ...
Íå ðàçáåé, íå äûøè, íå ïàäàé
Íà êàìåííûõ ñòóïåíÿõ.
Íåñè ìåíÿ îñòîðîæíåé
Ñêâîçü ìðàê ñâîåãî äâîðöà, --
Ñòàíóò áèòüñÿ òðåâîæíåé,
Ãëóøå íàøè ñåðäöà.
 ïåùåðå òâîèõ ëàäîíåé --
Ìàëåíüêèé îãîíåê --
ß áóäó ïûëàòü èêîííåé...
Íå òû ëè ìåíÿ çàæåã?
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