The Spring arrived when everyone quit waiting,
But leaves are not in rush to sprout, hesitating,
They fail to comprehend impatience of the branches
That waited for so long oppressed by weight of snow.
The lovesick fog hangs out in the brush and hugs the trees,
Its love absorbed the Spring, obscured the way,
So nervous birds abandoned their prey
And lost the way to nests that held new life,
They joined the chorus of exited peers
In their plea to fog to ease their fears
And leave the hospitable woods
Where hungry offspring begged for food.
The rain came pouring from the cloudy sky:
The bliss of Spring made poor fellow cry.
The wind pried out of fair maiden’s hands
A flower which she used with no pretense
For fortune-telling purpose to inquire
If her Prince Charming had the same desire.
The flower with its remaining petal
Preserved the secret of her lover’s heart:
He loved her not and they would drift apart.
The bubbling brook took over from the wind
And carried wretched flower with its secret
Of love that never meant to be.
The music plays a cheerless sound
Ignoring gorgeous Spring around,
The flowers don’t smell and fell to ruin
The altar where love once reigned.
Worshipped in vain by the young and old
It was but lie by priests sold.
An orange bird on branch up there
Cries with the tune that harts does tear.
The leaves are pleading with the wind
To shake off tears of their skins.
They know not the reason why
In Spring someone would need to cry.
In their week-long, blissful lives
They knew no misery or strife.
Poor leaves assume that bliss is norm
Until they weather mighty storm
And get a whipping by the hail
And feel like heart that’s doomed to fail
Destroyed by cruel, spiteful love,
Like hail descending from above.
The tiny leaves on branches sway
Touched gently by the silver wind
To whom they pledged eternal love
But Fall will come and from above
The wind with vengeance will descend
And to their doom the leaves will send.
The music plays its mournful score,
The joy of Spring to be no more,
Reminds the trees: you now bloom
But very soon you’ll meet your doom.
For nothing’s lasting on this Earth
Except its own stone and dust.
Yet, branches fail to yield to gloom
With leaves that soon will meet their doom,
With slayer wind that harbors death.
They waltz to someone’s anguished tune.
Their older kin that rots in soil
Not far from carnival’s tinfoil
Aware fully that demise
Is what once was their paradise.
They know the pain, but yearn for Spring
When up on branches birds did sing
And leaves would flutter in the breeze
Convinced that life will never cease.
The tune bemoans the love long lost
That heart would not recall to host.
Presiding on the wake for love
Betrayal stares from above
While poor heart still weeps and mourns
By treason wounded, badly burnt.
Oh, music, why continue play?
Why paint Spring days in black and gray?
As green young leave in height of Spring
I joined this World of love to sing.
I sacrificed my heart and soul
On love’s altar like Sun to burn.
And though the Sun did brightly glare
Its shine had none of warmth to share,
And when its rays would touch my soul
They burned like hot and blazing coals.
My heart’s joy was a brief affair:
Pierced by apathy’s glum stare
It withered like a new spring leaf
That learned the spring storm’s brutal grief.
I was desired, haunted and adored
By those about whom I never cared,
But objects of my own desire
Would never light their hearts on fire.
Thus whispered fair maiden, chasing after
The flower that was carried by the stream.
And music plays on, cries of love
That longed to be Eternal Spring,
But never lasted through the Winter.
Destroyed by Treason, she is mourned
By sad strings’ tune and dismal song
On Spring’s May day when Earth delights
And basks in Sun’s eternal light.
By Liana Margiva
Translated from Russian by Anatol Kardiukov