O Lady of the Sacred Heart
O Lady of the Sacred Heart,
open the doors of the inner temple,
illuminate the subconscious cellars.
The Lord has chosen You.
The first among brides
ascended the Solovetsky Cross
and received a hundred million
silent groans
into Her Mother’s Bosom.
Oh, where are you, where are you, wise virgins,
brides of the unnatural?
Gone to the halls of heaven.
Candle bearers Solovetsky
processions in frozen bodies
minus 30 Celsius
with lighted candles
went to their Bridegroom,
To the Eternal Light.
I remember, Father, I groan,
I do not cease to believe, I am exhausted
Stunned, I can’t say a word –
I was shocked by the love of Christ,
unprecedented, impossible until now.
The Pharisees defamed her
in a cold, rational framework.
Love with three exclamation marks.
Never sleep a wink day or night
Beloved wonderfully myrrh flows
In a passionate one with me.
The most sweet-smelling paradise on earth…
At least on the block to rejoice, and not to cry!
Poetry is
a virgin profession.
The virgin listened to the heavenly voices.
Drove virtually-virtuosic choruses
Under Mayakovsky and under Yesenin,
Under Stalin or under Lenin.
The spirit’s flight over the new universe –
The feat of transformation is unprecedented,
Hot Eucharist in the inner Bowl,
The voice of God is burning sweetest…
Two prisoners are buried in a cellophane bag
To each other with a jack –
Oh, what a consolamentum for poets!
Wisdom, how many poetic moves
You folded the light ones,
How many more saints and poets will you produce?
Poetry-trained flight altitude
Against the moving hippos in the swamp.
Templar loyalty, quixotic sword.
At least on the block – to rejoice, not to cry!
The sun does not go out either day or night.
A meeting with the eternal Beloved in absentia.
Without leaving the cell 30\06,
Make friends, even though you can’t count your enemies.
Poetry is always under the roof of the Most High,
Under the poetic inspiration of the creator’s world
And a man of poetic genius,
an angel of transubstantial inspiration.
And the streams of water carry me
I don’t know who I am.
I plunge into the passionate.
Sweetest,
save and adore, convert!
I’m drowning in darkness, I’m sorry.
I put my trust in my Beloved.
loving again and again,
constantly multiplying His cover in the passionate.
About You about one
round-the-clock fasting and vigil
from Monday to Sunday.
Hiding somewhere at the bottom of the well,
in its cement vaults,
will my Beloved respond? At the last depth
The sweetest one remembers me.
And the streams of water carry me.
And the enemies whine like hungry dogs.
In the last beyond twilight
longing to meet Christ,
and at the bottom of my little Calvary,
Katara the anointed shines a profile.
Easy to die daily
It’s easy to die daily.
The Swan Princess whispers the words of love
blissfully
Among the insane,
Stupid, out-of-touch people.
Resting in cellophane with a jack.
Perfect ones,
Performing their eternal consolamentum.
I wish I hadn’t been born into this world.
To ascend to the higher angelic destiny
And do not take part in choral
siphonies until the disastrous event is over.
I would have gone all over the place and made a fool of myself
Half a universe full of holiday songs.
I would have graduated from the dance academy.,
The prime minister of an unreal province–
just not a pop-eyed indulger,
Adventures and highs by a corrupt seeker…