A Persian Night (The sea-coast. ...)



The sea-coast.

Sky. Stars. I'm quiet. I'm lying down.

My pillow's neither a stone, nor feathers:

A sailor's worn-throught boot.

Samorodov wore it in those red days

When he led the revolt

And moved ship of the white to Krasnovodsk,

To the red waters.

Getting darker. Darkened.

"Comrad, come on, help me!"

A black, cast-iron Persian calls

Picking up brush-wood from the earth.

I tightened the strap

And helped him to shoulder it.

"Saul" (meaning "thank you").

He got lost in the dark.

And in the dark I whispered

The name of Mehdi.

Mehdi?

A beetle who flew from the black

Noisy sea,

Making for me,

Encircled my head two times

Folded his wing and landed in my hair,

Kept silent and then

Suddenly squeaked,

Distinctly said a well-known word

In the tongue we two understood.

His saying was firm but tender.

Enough! All was clear for two of us!

The dark treaty of night

Was signed by the beetle's squeak.

With his wings lifted up like sails,

He flew away.

The sea erased both the squeak and the kiss

on the sand.

Yes, it was.

Everything's true.