May be it sounds strange

But I know where the soul is.

The skeptics I won’t change.

Let them freely breathe!

 

My soul is the palm size,

It’s somewhere near the heart.

I feel it when it cries,

It doesn’t want with me to part.

 

I feel it when it’s full of joy,

It can overcome all troubles.

It tells me: Life enjoy!

It’s worthy of all the jewels.

 

At those happy moments it flies,

Puts the words into music,

All around it shines,

Fine art for it is the aesthetic.

 

In my dreams it becomes a bird.

Happy soul is above the clouds.

It observes the whole world,

Poetic soul between the quiets and the  louds.

 

But if you shoot this bird,

A soul has a risk not to return.

I give you my word,

Another world it will fly to learn.

 

And if a soul is wounded,

It will rush, getting the scars,

From the wicked world,

More trusting the stars.

 

Don’t shoot the birds!

They can be someone’s souls.

One day your soul can be that wounded bird

Shot by another wicked soul.

 

©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)

The 20^th of August, 2011