Wayfarers of the Wind

The muteness of the crystal lakes

Spreads out deceptively, luring into water.

In the entire icy void

Everything sinks into slumber...

Epistols of the winds from heaven...

Not everyone on earth will hear their wisdom.

They’re urging to make a turn,

With warmth and coldness their prophecies are written.

The pine trees are eaten by foam of lichens,

The winds howl in a hoarse voice.

We silently walked on fallen pine needles,

The fields stretched out with jagged edges...

Wherever I am — in the mountains or dark woods,

The damp wind tousles my hair.

Spring waters awaken unease...

— Tell me, the Wind, where does it all go?

— Life will dissolve in the ocean of forests,

The stone belt will tighten its loops,

Crushed by the weight of somber snowdrifts

In the lair of black tree monsters...

Bypassing the traps of spiritual prisons,

Drawing hope from the magic of the sun...

Wayfarers of the wind, their world without borders

Is warmed with the dream — the boundless ocean.

The pine trees are eaten by foam of lichens,

The winds howl in a hoarse voice.

We silently walked on fallen pine needles,

The fields stretched out with jagged edges...

Like a starry hawk, the mighty wind rushed

To the darkness, towards the extinguished heart.

And touched it with the hands of cold once again,

And swirled like a snowy mist in the storm.

We bury the yesteryears in silent ashes,

We carry the past on our wings far beyond.

You’re forever freed by the wind’s resolve,

You will shine, your wounds will be forgotten.

The pine trees are eaten by foam of lichens,

The winds howl in a hoarse voice…