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Icebound Minstrel

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Copyright © 2010 by Lara Biyuts

yellow and orange meditations

 I.

Wind whipped

snow dust.

Translucent veil.

II.

Snow stamped footprints,

what traveler has left you?

Short memory.

III.

Frosty night

I watch the stars.

Other worlds.

snowfall

 The blend of snow-flecks--

snow as a tardy revenge to the obstreperous grass of summer.

The whirl of snow-flecks--

a dreamlike wing, the plural of white non-existence.

The temper of the snow, the pain from the snow--

to dissect oneself in the sky to be forever one on the earth.

The time of snow--

the cyclic fairy tale, snowy roads, weird mist, hardly comprehensible.

The sadness of snow

beginning from sources and learnt by heart.

The call of snow--

the winter’s soft touches falling from the dark to my craving hand. 

the sun and the frost

The sun plays sparkling

in the branchy antlers,

The snow under the hoof.

The fur is sunshine-saturated.

It’s frosty.

The steamy breath curls skywards.

The green fir-trees dance in a ring;

the blue skys whirl above.

new year

The Mouse King has left me.

What a pity.

The pompous carnival,

which we participate,

performs another play,

and it’s so witty,

but it’s not one of things,

which I anticipate.

to Oscar Wilde

Your rhymes destroy my common sense.

I want to give my sighs to you.

Why did they place us at the two

glamorous times?

If only but a great expanse

were the abyss that parted our lives,

and not the times, glamorously undying--

the snow, the ground and the dreams

were common, in this case,

for you and me, and I had earthly way

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