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