The clouds clung tightly to each other, at least one star was allowed to look here …

Blog 11. April 2020

The clouds clung tightly to each other, at least one star was allowed to look here …

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„Christmas Elegy“ by Marko Vorony

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A horse beats its hoof outside the window.The fog sways and pours on Christmas night.Frost is blue… And holy peanSnow-covered cathedral baths are buzzing

Buzzing Christmas: carols are heard,The hive of the sky shines in the buzz …Friendly movement of a girl’s hand to you,And for horses – to drink fresh, winter water.

You, like wax, burn up, float away;There will be peace and cold mind,And you will be alone without limitsKeep track of rains and frosts.

And you will go out to the Christmas tree singing,Take another look at the winter stars.The constant radiance of star lights,Constant light and candles in the cathedral.

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„Doomsday“ by Marko Vorony

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Bright memory of Mary Trior

My dream is suffocating, dull fatigue from the noise of the era.In the noise of the park lie, listen to the growth of the storm.All dreams are high and boundless, like the evening -An evening of an era where blood splashes into copper shields.

 The sun of copper battle blossomed with relentless fire,An angry planet of hearts will burn earthly gardens.Well, the girl’s tender hands opened like wings.From the black earth it is difficult for the dead and sleepy to rise.

I know white swans in a black field moan,A black swan is waiting for her in the night field.The memory lived in my palm is ashes;Any homeland is noisy with the feathers of war.

Hey, the heralds of the Last Judgment will be rinsed with flags,The prophet could not stand sleep during the dark hours.He, like a brilliant bridegroom at midnight, will open the door.In the darkness of the dark time God inevitably goes.

It is difficult to wake up, to get up in the lightless space of a building, -It still seems like dreams in the body are heavy and in the hands.Awaken my father’s wooden rooster crows;Troy weeping species in a native tree lives.

Oh, my blue-eyed anxiety is unquenchable, – oh, God, -Dead girl’s face with black wave braids.God, I dropped the stone of revenge to make a songBlissfully closed her throat. I’m stuffy, ah, I’m stuffy …

In the frame of the empty white window flashed clothes -It’s stuffy, ah, it’s stuffy for me! .. I know and I’ve lived everything.I know those steps and hands, her relentless tenderness …God, is this the end – the cold breath of the earth?

God, will I go to the Last Judgment for the dead?My door slammed into the gray cold gardens.Shades of pink stretched the trees into the essence of the wide.A haze of winds flew quietly under his feet.

Clouds smoldered with chorales in black willow nets.Millennial willow in the radiance of the Lord’s lakes.We came out of the dead house into the expanse of the fiery morning, -It has its own landscapes every hour of the day.

Wisely the theater of the earth’s circle whirls to the sun.And even the descent of the letters of God is subject to the hand.I saw your maiden state in the radiance of transparent cloth, -you walked in greenery and noise: in summer green chaos –

And an unbearable lake ran towards the bay.Where the star rose in the whistles of nightingales,There, a pink space opened wide for her meeting,Her dress faded in the glow of the shining star.

And quietly over the forest above the noisy horizon of the homelandGod’s punishing vision hung in the open sky.And immediately it got dark. A whirlwind of gunpowder and a voice roseFrom him he spoke his word to me separately:

„You will wander over the copper of red waters from time immemorial“The black hills of the shores shouted hard: „Go!“My throat is pounding in unquenchable anxiety.

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„At the station“ Vasyl Vrazhlyvy

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For ten steps, everything plunged into the black depths.

The watchman on the line, Hryhoriy, did not look closely, did not close his eyes: nothing was visible, not even the cars standing near the depot, and they disappeared somewhere. The station lay on a high hill in the middle of the steppe. It was 10 miles to a small county town, around the steppe, and still close to the village.

And you have to guard well.

Gregory listened. You can’t hear anything, only the thick stalks of grass are rattling against the rails and there is a frightening sound behind the traffic lights.

Recently, a month ago, cars were robbed, you can not sleep.

The night dimmed the lights, threw transparent soot on everything and fell asleep, and Hryhoriy bends down … So he stands, stands, puts down his rifle and dives. Something will freeze, wake up, look around, sharpen your ear …

Quietly. The clouds clung tightly to each other, at least one star was allowed to look here …

„Should I go into the booth?“ He thought. „And I’ll probably smoke there!“

He turned, went through one line. The sand rustled beneath his feet, blowing timidly sea dampness. A bird flew by, snarled and disappeared into the darkness.

There was light in the booth. Two uncles were sitting on the bench. One leaned over and dozed off, and the other leaned against the phone and read something, sleepily running around the paper with tired eyes …

„Ah, it’s you, Gregory!“ He moved and gave him a seat next to him. „Night, brother, I succeeded in glory, I’ll tell you.“ Warmth! Apparently it will rain.

– Where is it beautiful … Everything is smeared, so you won’t see it before your eyes. And also as if someone deliberately took and covered his eyes with honey. So sweet, and eyelashes close, close. You can’t stand it: you put a stick next to you and swear. You bend over once, a second time, and then you start to squirm. You wake up, you walk … Defilement, brother, service …

Gregory tore off the paper, poured a small shag and tastefully lingered.

„How’s your wife?“

„Yes!“ He waved his hand reluctantly.

– Tell me what happened there, because it’s probably been a month, and I still don’t know anything witty.

Gregory loved to tell his grief … Making sure that he was not mocking him, he sat down on the bench and began:

„Well, listen! You’ve known me for a long time: I’m such a man – a thread, I don’t drink; I’m not involved in anything bad at work. My nature is as follows: as with me in a human way, I’m nothing. an hour once drove to drink.

We went to the village with the whole camp.

There they drank a glass. And the boys are not enough, – all young, healthy, – shout and shout: give and end!

I don’t want to drink. And the owner, the old sorcerer, wants to earn more. Everything invites and pours.

I moved closer to the guys. And whispers in his ear:

„Let’s scare this grandfather, this sour-eyed Satan,“ I say.

Agreed. One drunkard, Khvedir, waved everything off: like that, he says, I made a recommendation to you, and you raise the devil-knows-what; he never says I will go with a guard – the most infamous people.