Rosso Rotto
2021
Here, my soul is wrapped in deep despair,
No warm embrace of homeland, none to share,
As a once-beloved friend now looks askance,
With faded faith, no longer in the dance.
September roared, my native land in tears,
Beneath relentless rain, dispelling fears,
A flock of blackbirds followed in my wake,
As if they sensed a life's forlorn heartache.
Stirred by sadness, fear that gripped me tight,
I vainly chased my stormy dreams in flight,
While woods with cold disdain began to shroud,
Me in their frost, with leaves like shivers, bowed.
The wind relentlessly and mournful blew,
"Why are you here, frail poet, tell me true?
What do you seek from us?" it seemed to cry,
"You're but a stranger, here you can't rely."
In distance, I heard a song's familiar sound,
Its bitterness within my heart did bound,
It carried powerless, languid, weak distress,
A feeble, weary ache, in deep duress.
With that song, my soul awoke once more,
To dreams I'd long forgotten to explore,
I cursed the heart that faltered, turned away,
Retreating from the fight, led astray.
"Return," 1864
N. Nekrasov
Authors: Mikheil Mikadze, Oyat Shukurov, Sofya Balykina