Èñòî÷íèê:
https://gramhir.com/profile/poetsofthefallband/1444800618
Ïåðåâîä:
Poets of the Fall Community
https://vk.com/potf_community
Poets - Tour Diaries - Part 14
The Feather and the Rose
”Hello there”, the rose called out to the tiny feather. It tumbled joyously from one zephyr to another. Frolicking in their laps for a while and taking its leave by their amorphous fingers. ”You are an exotic colour. I wonder what kind of heavenly creature you are from.” Half questioning, half pondering. ”Oh, hello!” The feather answered as it gazed down to the rose garden. ”Apologies, but I’m not sure I can stop to chat. It’s the wind, you see. Difficult to navigate. But you look lovely too, my friend. And I’m sorry, I don’t remember where I come from.” The feather took a sudden dive and plunged closer, even as the breeze tried to pick it back up to the heights and carry it away. ”Oh, that’s wonderful”, the rose piped. ”I wish I could fly like you. I’ve always dreamed of it. To be free as a feather. Oh, the sights you must’ve seen, the worlds, the wonders. I can only imagine.” ”I have, I have, and it’s been incredible”, said the feather. ”Only, I wish that one day, I may land somewhere as beautiful as your garden, and be surrounded with my family and my friends, the buzzing bees. I wish I too could grow roots and if luck would have it, finally blossom.” . . . Was just listening to ”Roses” this morning. Love what you have. -Marko
Ïîýòû - Ãàñòðîëüíûå äíåâíèêè - ×àñòü 14
Ïåðûøêî è ðîçà
”Ïðèâåò", îêëèêíóëà ðîçà êðîøå÷íîå ïåðûøêî.
Îíî âåñåëî êóâûðêàëîñü òî ó îäíîãî âåòåðêà, òî ó äðóãîãî. Íåìíîãî ïîðåçâèâøèñü íà èõ êîëåíÿõ, ïåðûøêî âûëåòåëî èç èõ àìîðôíûõ ïàëüöåâ.
”Ó òåáÿ ýêçîòè÷åñêàÿ ðàñêðàñêà. Èíòåðåñíî, èç êàêîãî òû ðîäà íåáåñíûõ ñîçäàíèé?”
Îäíîâðåìåííî è âîïðîñ è ðàçìûøëåíèå.
"Î, ïðèâåò!" îòâåòèëî ïåðûøêî, ãëÿäÿ âíèç íà ðîçîâûé ñàä.
"Ïðîøó ïðîùåíèÿ, íî ÿ íå óâåðåíî, ÷òî ñìîãó îñòàíîâèòüñÿ, ÷òîáû ïîáîëòàòü. Âèäèòå ëè, çäåñü âåòðåíî. Ñëîæíî îðèåíòèðîâàòüñÿ. Íî òû òîæå ïðåêðàñíî âûãëÿäèøü, ìîé äðóã. È ìíå î÷åíü æàëü, íî ÿ íå ïîìíþ, îòêóäà ÿ ðîäîì”.
Ïåðûøêî âíåçàïíî ñïèêèðîâàëî è ïðèáëèçèëîñü, íåñìîòðÿ íà òî, ÷òî âåòåðîê ïîïûòàëñÿ ïîäíÿòü åãî îáðàòíî ââåðõ è óíåñòè ïðî÷ü.
"Î, ýòî ÷óäåñíî", - âîñêëèêíóëà ðîçà. "Êàê áû ÿ õîòåëà ëåòàòü, êàê òû. ß âñåãäà ìå÷òàëà îá ýòîì. Áûòü ñâîáîäíîé, êàê ïåðûøêî. Î, êàêèå äîñòîïðèìå÷àòåëüíîñòè òû, äîëæíî áûòü, âèäåëî, êàêèå ìèðû, êàêèå ÷óäåñà. ß ìîãó òîëüêî ïðåäñòàâèòü".
"Âèäåëî, âèäåëî, è ýòî áûëî íåâåðîÿòíî", - ñêàçàëî ïåðûøêî. "Òîëüêî ÿ ìå÷òàþ, ÷òîáû îäíàæäû ÿ ñìîãëî ïðèçåìëèòüñÿ â òàêîì æå ïðåêðàñíîì ìåñòå, êàê òâîé ñàä, è áûòü îêðóæåííûì ìîåé ñåìüåé è ìîèìè äðóçüÿìè, æóææàùèìè ï÷åëàìè. ß áû òîæå õîòåëî ïóñòèòü êîðíè è, åñëè ïîâåçåò, íàêîíåö ðàñöâåñòè."
. . .
Ïðîñòî ñëóøàë "Roses" ýòèì óòðîì. Ëþáèòå òî, ÷òî ó âàñ åñòü.
- Ìàðêî.