HARPHAIM
There is a soul brewing in the lowest reaches of the Nile,
Languishing for the past by a silent longing.
Yet, as the gleam of dawn arrives at its womb,
It’s crowned by the lightness of the winged belonging.
The voice is still unborn, but here the strings that burst in blossom;
Yet, there is no fruit, but will for life, the great and awesome.
How quick it is conceived, whilst shaking in the wind of silent truths and revelations;
Still searching for the bourne amidst unspoken relations.
Casting its covetous eyes towards that earthly vale,
The soul is to submit its lot and guiding sail.
Life is a squanderer and that is its role at the core;
Harmony’s hathpace is placed on the shore.
Those souls that spooned the essence of nonbeing,
Are craving for an ease of falling feather;
Yet, the one that is awaken from a wicked sleep,
Descended to the Aeolian temple flawlessly, arouse from aether.
Timelessness speaks no words: it nourishes the grains that rest upon eternal arch of order,
Embraces magnitude of sparkling stars
And grant the names to those resurrected souls
That slipped across the hidden border.
Soul tastes a freedom of the speech;
Sight gets an eagle eye and ears gain the string of subtle trembling.
Whene’ver holy Spirit leaves the upper world,
The lowest reaches of the life will find its settling.
Those hearts that are born from its strings
Raise a conducting power of the invisible and veiled,
As every soul is an enlightened torch
With each grasping breath of life exhaled.
There is a soul arising in the upper reaches of the Nile,
A soul of golden threads that weaves invisible into unborn;
It unfolds the Empyrean andante amoroso
For revealing to the world a sacral pace of the events to be yearned.
The world is reckless and is fully unaware of the cast;
It grasps the smell of danger till it’s taken by a blast!
Devoid of cares, one-idea’d, trapped in contradictions,
It gains no peace and harmony in blustering addictions.
Unknown, secretly, most blissfully, with awe,
The soul runs an entire path of the life granting river, passing through each pore.
And no matter how blind and careless our world can be,
We are to recognize the strings of Harphaim unseen.
Roxolana Zigon
01-07-2022
27-07-2022 (translation)
http://stihi.ru/2022/07/02/315
(Оригинал поэмы на русском языке)
https://youtu.be/tBUjxXIaszU