WHEN THE SUN ROLLS DOWN

By Yasen Vedrin

(Gold Coins in the Oak Chest)

When the sun rolls down steeply to west in its flight,

And the sunset has painted white clouds with its breath —

Come out to the porch with dock-leaves, green and bright,

And two glasses of wine for our dreams beyond death.

Do not rush with the house-chores until it grows dark.

Rest your tired old head on my shoulder right now.

For a moment let’s look — past the roof, through the spark

Of the leaves, to that holy and sacred blue brow.

We plowed it so long — with white prayers and our dreams,

Yet until this very day not a daisy it bore.

We waited for Advent. Rare words, with no streams...

And a warm round of loaf, sprinkled with stars anymore.

The time has bent down, like a hoop on the ground,

And the old fellow-wind started sweeping the dust.

Take a sip of the wine! Gales will soon spin around!

And let God then caress us from above, if He must...

Just as we are together, He’ll snatch us unread.

With cross-clouded palms warm our souls in a dome.

And if this unearthly glance still rocks us ahead,

Then we’re surely in Heaven, but this side of home...

The tears start to swell. Final autumn rains pour.

It grows yellow on ridges. On gray stone it beats.

But somewhere — up there — the sky-flower we adore

Hears us all! It blooms, withers. And blooms in the streets...