Margarita Siourina "PARABLE"

A traveller tired is dragging himself through the evening.
Covered with dust are the tops of the wormwood and brown.
The traveller doesn’t see the sunset, he’s looking at pathway,
Stubbornly trying to find his vague truth in the folds of the ground.

Round the bend, there’s a hut, small and slanted from winters and sorrow;
Dark are the windows; and grass at the walls brushes the roof-beams.
A woman of years is crying in the darkness alone:
Her pail has been dropped into well, how can she retrieve it?

Faceted eyes of the rowan are bloodshot and hectic;
Hot wind plays rustily whipping dry leaves into whirlpools.
Nightfall is coming; the weeds on the hills look expectant.
A sunray belatedly touches entangled reflections.

Margarita Siourina,
August 7, 1994

Photo and rendering: Margarita Siourina
Photo and rendering: Margarita Siourina