Вера Полозкова - Восток - Птица - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

My friend the scarifier draws scars on people, teaching them the art of voluntary pain. He asks you to respect her essence, to trust her, not to be stubborn, not to drown her in jokes, in panic, in alcohol. He teaches it as a science, a language and a sacrament, he is familiar with all its laws and features. And the bloody wounds under his fingers are woven with wondrous patterns, signs and colors.

I live at the ashram, I learn peace, sobriety, monotony, insipidity, discipline. The mind needs to be trained smoothly, just as an incision should be made along the tremulous and naked human clay. I want to be able to accept my pain without horror, to observe it as one of the processes in the body. I hope that one day I will have the courage to deny it its enormity, its power, its purpose.

Because everything is filled with pain, and it’s quite terrible - you can’t make a poem out of it, or an escape, or a voodoo doll; No matter how much I walk, I can’t cough it up, no matter how much I roar, I can’t get rid of it. There is no other experience besides pain; everything is determined by it, it demands submission. And so I get up at dawn without complaining, I serve and pray, I am a diligent student.

Carve on me a bird of silver feather, right from birth, not afraid of storm, famine, or landslide. Cut it out and fill it with your hottest herb so that it eats deeper and heals more slowly. May it, Lord, be my reward, may the strength I seek forever be hidden in it. Let her carry me out of the cold hell where I am falling, a minute before darkness.