Hiking Song of the Mountain

mountains and song of the soul! Trekking with

Rocket went into Space, To heights exciting to the mind. And you wear gym shoes, Walk along the taiga paths.

Whether in winter, in spring, under thunderstorms, You live according to forest grammar. And you sleep under open stars, Not a galaxy known to us.

Yes! These are the guys, Without boasting and farce, In jackets made of durable fabric, Will go along the roads of Mars.

Beats them with rain and hail, Drowns in a swamp unsteady. But with them forever nearSunny smile.

Sunny and radiant, to be with her always with you, even when it is not clear, the sky above your head.


* * *

In the blue spring distance, clouds floated – northerners. Under the birches stood Two tents – “silverfish”.

He blew his shirt wind and smoothed wrinkles. Carefree, like children, We laughed for no reason.

The river in pebbles charmed, Talked teeth. Talked, how to drink, Refreshed our lips,

She scattered emeralds, Washed our faces, and pressed a red-breasted carpenter at the dam.

Her fins were tired, The river became a torment to her. The belly up, in a spiral, The fish carried the current.

The wind ran across my faces, collecting foreheads in wrinkles. He said to people: “Children, you laugh for no reason.”

He whispered to the river: “Lada, you are poisoned at the source, don’t be bewildered by your coolness to your high banks.”

In purple clothes, Clouds-northerners walk. Under birch trees as before. Two tents of “silverfish”.

There, where a new dam Rechka was stirring up memory, I remembered with whom I was friends: Who is Judas here?

Lift us, Day, rather, Give us distant paths, Let us see the world sharper, Widely spreading the lungs!

Wake us with the dawn, with the dawn, Let the iced water wash, Give us the white snow in the summer, And in the winter – tan on our faces!

The foggy night. In a bowl there is semolina porridge. Pine is chopped with tar needles. There is nothing strange, nothing foggy, If it’s cold on a cold night.

Somewhere above the lakes strings are busting, Quiet and loud songs until the morning.

About the author


View all posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *