The fate of the reeds

From the cigar the smoke bubbles, The
ashes pour all over the asphalt,
As if the bulldog was grasping the
world , the world disintegrated like a ringing crystal.

To me now the oratorium organ,
Shutting down, plays psalms.
He became a November leaf hooligan
Rustling among the silence.

The air was fresh in the cool mist
. My hearty cry was frozen.
And I take the patience of the needle,
To sew up the wound of these intrigues.

Chanting love that time and again,
Developing the bonds of the soul,
But by the end the story suddenly came up,
leaving behind the fate of the reeds.

Sergey Prilutsky, Alatyr, 2013