Remembering Yesenin

The quiet rustle of ephemeral words
Grows clearer, kinder, ever closer, near…
The fragrance of the verses of Yesenin
Above a sleepless Paris courtyard here.

The sky is painted by the stars like moths,
A serene August evening, calm and deep.
The subtle scent of Avignonian roses
Embraces shoulders that a tremor keep.

The gentle whisper of the drowsing birches
Pours forth a languid, carefree, soft delight…
And an unasked question, it rehearses,
An Eternity that pauses in the night.

A rainbow from a candle sheds its light
Upon our life's eternal, premier play…
Oh, may the hot breath of the Angleterre night
Not scorch your soul and burn your dreams away!

25.03.2006