М.Ю. Лермонтов - Три пальмы

24 October 2017

In sandy fields of the Arabian land
Three noble palms found their lifetime rest.
There poured a spring between them from the dead ground
Making his own way by cold water with splatter.
By roof of green leaves it was carefully kept
Away from hot beams and the flights of the sand.

And many years passed without any faint sound.
But a tired stranger from the foreign ground
Bent his flaming chest to the pleasant cold water
And made his own rest under leaf made shelter.
And wonderful leaves and a sound making spring
Began to dry out under the hot beams.

Then the palms began to complain to the God:
"Is this our purpose to fade at this spot?
Without any use we were growing and rising
Were shivered by wind and by sun were warmed either.
Could not bring a joy to an any man's sight.
Your sentence, oh God, we believe is not right!"

And only they silenced there appeared the whirl
Far on the horizon lifting up the sand still.
Bells' sounds were singing in different order.
And brightness of carpets was becoming bolder.
There went like on waves in the sea the shuttle.
Camel behind camel bothering sandy ground.

The camping tents swung between the solid humps
Showing the ornaments of their behalf.
They were lifted up sometimes by brown hands
And there was a shining of black eyes then.
Arabian man bent his thin body down
To his bow and teased his black horse around.

And sometimes the horse stood up on the rear legs
And jumped like a panther by arrow injured.
And beautiful folds of the white clothes were waving
On shoulders of faris without ordering.
With shout and screaming he rode on the dunes
Just throwing and catching the spear in move.

The caravan approached to the palms with mess.
Palm shadow gave them for rest wonderful place.
The jugs began filling with clear water.
And proudly nodding by its terry head
The palms said hello to unexpected guests.
And spring watered them generously.

But only the darkness has lowered on ground.
The axes began cut the springy roots down.
And sons of the centuries have fallen dead!
The children have teared their skin away.
Their bodies were cut down to pieces later
And they were the fuel for fire till next day.

When fog went to East leaded by the wind,
The caravan continued his planned trip.
And sad trace on barren soil was all that left.
Gray and cold ashes as could be observed.
And sun burnt away all that rest there remained.
And wind spread it out around the land.

And now this place is a wild and shallow thing.
And there is no whisper between leaves and spring.
And useless his prayers for any shadow.
Just hot sand fills it up since then all along.
And a crested vulture, wanderer of sands
Just torments and pinches his prey as a guest.



М.Ю. Лермонтов - Три пальмы