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It Wasn’t Living

Я не прожил, я протомился...

 It wasn’t living, I wasted
half my life
— and then, Lord, You came to me
like this, in an impossible dream.

I see light on Mount Tabor
and my heart hurts
with love for the land and the sea
and the whole tree-dark dream of existence,

My heart hurts that
I wasn’t Yours sooner,
that I was so tormented
by Your daughters’ beauty.

But is love only a tiny red flower
with just a moment to bloom?
Is love only a tiny flame
so easy to snuff out?

Thinking these quiet, dismal thoughts
I’ll manage to drag this life out
— But You think about the next one:
I’ve ruined one already.

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