"Снег, Юлька..."

People get carried away to you,
As if they are bottles.
The tips of their limbs move to the sound of life under them,
Longing for your blessings.
But you are a lonely Island,
And the Spirit of God hovers over the Water.
Nothing is created or destroyed.
Only changes space,
Or becomes a question:
Is everything fine?
Where does it hurt?
Do you remember to water the tree?
Would you mind me turn on the music?
Are you thirsty? (Why not?)
Maybe sad? (Why yes?)
The bell? Is it for you?
And the army? When are they coming?
Can I turn on the light?
Have you seen the black bag?
What about some rest?
Why don't you ever answer?
All the leaves fell out
And no one can console
I'm ready for snow
Can you hear me, father?