There's a peaceful land of maidens crystal-pure,
where children are as unbreakable as steel
where snake-victors kneel and drink
the wine of angels in silent, frozen halls.
There's a peaceful land of grasses
where the dragon sings for eternal hours.
He waits, his wise head bowed,
powerful wings embroidered with flowers.
Monks dwell in cells among burgundy rocks.
Fire burns inside their stone bowls.
And the wine of angels can't been tasted or seen
like tears in a river or in our dead souls.
Here no victories or failures prevail.
The scorpion sleeps at the foot of the rhododendron.
And in the window's light—a sacred darkness,
like writing on a scorpion's scales.
Copyright © 2022 Natalka Bilotserkivets, © 2022 Dzvinia Orlowsky (Ukrainian translation) Eccentric Days of Hope and Sorrow, Lost Horse Press