THE FINAL MEANING

By Yasen Vedrin 

(Gold Coins in the Oak Chest)

These summers of mine – like the water-buffaloes, old and resigned,
How long they have plowed through our hopes with the sharp, iron blade...
But the colorful dreams yet unlived have been left far behind,
As if I had prayed for another to find their warm shade.

The downpours of rain have rushed out. In the spring, in the autumn, and heat.
The thunders have crashed with their lightning and short-living trace.
While my soul counted all of its tears – offered at God’s own feet,
To make His pure waters burst out... Holy rivers of grace!

My hair became white, as if branded and seared by the heavy white frost,
And the dry, barren river of call cut its wrinkles in clay.
My faith became bent from the load that it carried, exhausted and lost,
But it didn't trample its duty beneath Christ’s own Cross on the way.

I didn't live to that day, which was set for a miracle find.
Perhaps I refused to give up my whole soul on the altar to rise.
And inside the future there still remain dreams that must die in the mind,
To bring Resurrection and life to my gift in the skies.

These summers of mine – like the water-buffaloes, old and resigned,
How long they have plowed... And a field is still waiting ahead!
Let me drive them once more with my eyes that are sleepless and blind,
For the ultimate meaning – that His was the life that I led.