Waves of wind have
Come, come and gone away,
Swinging right and swinging left
Through the autumn night.

Words of love have
Fallen through the open space,
Snowflakes destined for the peaks
What a winter sight!

Bring your secrets,
Bring all your honest friends,
Bring your paints and bring your notes,
Bring your summer’s theft.

Life has fallen
Into another’s hands:
Not a penny here to save,
Not a diamond left.

 

Water to my hips,
Freshness of the breeze,
Coolness of the light.

Water to my knees,
Coolness of the breeze,
Freshness of the night.

This stream is flowing

To thaw the iceberg.
If it will,
The iceberg is one with the current.

This stream is flowing

To thaw the iceberg.
It froze —
Touched the still lake of past.

Նետելով այս վախը,
Ես անցնում եմ առաջ։
և սակայն այստեղ
Տերևները կանաչ
Դեղնել և ընկել են,
և վարդերը թոշնել են՝
Իմ հոգում ծաղկել է
Ազատությունը քաջ։

I believed that the high tide
Exemplifies the strong –
Clears dirt, dissolves what’s old,
But I was wrong.

The low tide opens Truth.
Old can’t be shaken or removed.
Old simply hides,
But it resides
In every wrinkle of the new.

With his scythe he mowed the fields of wheat,
The vast fields – bent under the pressure of the rising wind.
Blending their gold with the gold of the setting sun –
A joy for his eyes, but his sight is nearly gone.
Yellow, orange and red in his veins –
Always mowed the fields, with purpose, or in vain.