In The Middle Of Summer by Alexander Shurbanov

even the river stands still
The fiery rose–
a crisp cutout in the quiet air–
looks like a drawing.
The pears–
drops of golden sap
under the boughs’ green overhang–
as though they will never fall.
And my heart–
joyful and calm
like the midday sun–
far from rising
or setting down.
The honey on the lips–
still glowing
in the middle of the road–
a brief taste
of immortality.

translated by Ludmilla G. Popova-Wightman

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s