Happy Note. Валентина Молодовская

does not judge those who walk.

      The Times of Love

      How we rushed to meet that spring,

      Hurrying to be ahead of life!

      Well, love?! Let it by time be healed,

      There will be hundreds of loves!

      And life already measures springs,

      And what’s fulfilled, – the fate can’t be reproached,

      But here is sadness, —

                My love, where are you waving wings?

      And where is the stamina to come back to its porch?

      One hundred winters-summers, and company

                                                  is needless,

      So why you still remember those springs?

      And who has said that time will heal us, —

      Let it heal those who were not in love with

                                             someone’s lips!

      This autumn meeting is a gift or fleer

      That Fate decided to arrange so late?

      But light will come, and apple-smelling wind

      Will open windows to our closed hearts!

      And the silk candles will melt with happy tear

      Of autumn branches of mountain ash.

      How silly it is to expect that time will cure

      Us – who were loved and who love so smash…

      And August started fight of controversy, stamina —

      That trace of spring is difficult to catch,

      That summer is already wiping out evening, —

                                              worthy

      Is autumn?…

                           Time for love?!

      «My face is under the eternal mask…»

      My face is under the eternal mask

      Paler than the moon, more transparent than leaves,

      Like on a canvas, I paint on it – my mask:

      Peace, prosperity, comfort and benefits

      I paint the bitterness in white,

      I hide the pain under the lipstick of pink color,

      I’ll wash the grief from face, alright

      No loneliness, no night and no hell…

      But it’s make-up for everyone. And you?

      You, please, accept me with no one of masks.

      You truly know price of pure soul

      The meaning of the canvas, untouched

                                          by paint of cast.

      My autumn love

      High aspen’s burning like the hay

      With autumn flame of foliage,

      Lit with a candle of the name day

      My love, and rumor’s knowledge.

      It flares so young and bright,

      Cause couldn’t flare so bright in spring,

      These autumn gifts of fate

      I accept.

                         And my voice rings,

      With sadness and passion

                        Mixed up,

      It sounds so clear and light.

      And autumn does not bother me,

      When we are together in flight.

      «I remember the taste of your lips…»

      I remember the taste of your lips,

      Like one remembers colors of the rainbow.

      The Earth, as a cube with sharp ribs,

      With no exit to go.

      Wherever you look, – it’s a wall,

      Whatever you touch, – corners just overall,

      Feel being indebted to all?

      I’ll give back! – Gifts are not so small.

      Let me enter the world where snows

      In the morning the steppe will lit up,

      Where hills are in sleep as they froze,

      Where the dawn lulls us, sitting up.

      Where there is no fuss,

      And soul feels so free!

      Where we are like those,

      Whom can not already be.

      I knock at the walls of my debts,

      Captured by the irrelevant fuss,

      Empty night longer gets

      In the rupture of winters’ time pass.

      And where one sees silver snows,

      And the flight becomes free in the winds,

      Where hills are in sleep as they froze,

      You remember the taste of my lips.