Tuesday, June 1, 2021





Four Poems



Every day I enter, as in God's temple.

Grace like-at dawn

Look around on the sides:

The conqueror of darkness is already immortal.

With news I enter into your gates

With new lines and bright verses.

Lord, thank you that still can I write.

I hear the sounds of lyres under the sky.





I'll leave quietly, quietly, until dawn ...

Under the feet will remain the sky and the city.

Useless Soul repair, all in vain,

Every scar in my heart

He spoiled in pain ...

I'll leave, lines of silent prayers are inappropriate

An angel leads my account to endless roads

Illuminates my path with light from soft lamps

In the bright Temple, and where

Love is called God Himself.




Nobody will solve the mystery of the Russian cold,

In a city of blue frosts where forgotten names rhyme

Coffee won't save you there no tea,long-coat, behold!

The eternal cold of the frozen yonder times.

Cold of bird cherry, Epiphany of mighty frost,

February blizzards, chills, winters, snowdrifts,

Long winter dreams of rowan and birch trees

Rivers, lakes, seized - in frosty staples rifts.

Hell to wind, frost, and others the devil dooms!

The will power of the primroses surge awaits,

The frosty pattern again, clean, youthful booms -

The cold gives birth to Sunbright Russian poets.




Horses! Horses, my horses

On the water, they drank the sun

In quiet a sleepy whisper of leaves

When smells of mowed grass had begun.

A world that knows no limit

One or two hundred years, quite

Remembers my mind that minute

Remember the horse that was white.

Braids in curls those blossomed

Their souls nigh to heaven, that blazed

Horses! My horses, horses!

In the golden steppe, those grazed.

I remember as if was yesterday

what not I went through

The smell of that steppe wormwood

Late evening campfire, construe!

The moon wheel would roll on

Stars did weave Carpets

And kindness was wrapped in the darkness

I fell in the hands of the steppe.

Was it in real or a dreaming

Pain in my chest does still run

Horses! Horses, my horses

On the water, they drank the sun.




EKATERINA VOLODINA -  poet, member of the Union of Russian writers, member of the Association of writers of the Urals, co-chair of the literary Council of the Assembly of peoples of Eurasia, regional editor of the First all-Russian literary magazine "Lifft" in the Tyumen region. Curator for the Tyumen region of the international literary project "Poetry in indigenous languages" (within the framework of the international project of the United Nations and Russia "Year of indigenous languages"). Head of the international Friendship Club "Children of Eurasia". Author of 9 books. Ekaterina Volodina's works have been translated into 12 languages.



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