Russian Folk Festival 2014

You drink pure milk

 You drink the pure milk of my serene soul ...

 My little infant who did not see the light of day ...
 And on her white knees, she cradles yours by speaking to him in a low voice of life with a heavy forehead.
 Here is the milk of spirit and the milk of tenderness ...
     Here is the golden look cast upon the heavens;
 Taste near my heart the dawn of wisdom;
 For on earth you will never understand better.
 See, my soul on you bowing still more, in the time that you sleep in the cradle of my flank ...
Embold the blond birds with threads of dawn to drape over your being a sparkling veil;
She is dreaming of your nebulous soul, whose young nucleus is still softened, and announces to you the day, prudent and anxious ...
By letting it filter through its polished fingers ...
First open your eyes to my sweet twilight, prepare them for a long time to the glare of the sun, fly in my gardens, light as a bubble, So as not to surprise you too much on awakening ...
Course after the hornets, play with the bees that for you my thought brings from the outside ..
Soup in your hands the udder of the trellises, blows on this mauve water where the countryside sleeps ...
Go into my house and sharp where beautiful greyhounds lie down near the wall, see oils burn in a cassolette ...And crystal clear and pure desire ...
This square of light over there is the window where the sun sits its globe of rays ...
Here is the whole East which sings in my being, with its blue birds, with its butterflies;
On the window of azure a rose leans, releasing her forehead from the leafy foliage, My private dove somnole, bruised by perfume, forgetting the grain I shed ...
Between opens the mute door, a candid little mage, who can only penetrate with your light steps into the secret room where, exhausted and empty-hearted, I have sobbed in a low voice.
Or else, if you will, go down by the window to the dusty path of the noon ray, Like a thumb god with iridescent flesh, which would be rose and the sun out.
I am there, I smile, give me your frail hand, Gentler to caress than the down of the flowers ...
 I want to tell you the eternal legend of the world that includes laughter and pain ...
Listen and remember to have touched my soul ...
A few days I could perhaps in your eyes, find her with her silence and her flame ...
And maybe then, I'll understand it better ...
O you whom I cajole with fear in the wadding, Small soul in bud attached to my flower ...
From a piece of my heart I fashion your heart ...
O my fruit cottony, small mouth moist

Nina <3