To My Singer Poem by Natalia Bakina

When restlessly burning souls,
Getting tired of their earthly roles,
Stream back into galactic rivers,
Sacramental for calming their fevers,
Let me halt on the blossoming shore,
Meet your love in its all-giving law,
Let me bless all the fevers you lift,
Cherish them as the most precious gift,
Let me wait here praying for more
Of your being with me in my awe,
Hold you tight in impetuous grips,
Sense you by the insensible lips,
Drift to stars on the flows you emit,
Die of passion when your tides recede
And slow down my worldly reaction –
Let your shadows become my protection,
Let the waves of oblivion lick
The pebbles I do not want to pick,
The memories thrown into the sea,
My stones - the remnants of me.
Let me take you in by little sips...
Though the sun can be watched in eclipse
Or when it dims pale in its rise
I can get it in your raying eyes.
In the zenith beams glare and blind,
Flashing circles obscure the sight -
Thus against your young image in shine
Things are viewed in the black outline.
Thus your spectrum can interfere
With my vision – I see so clear
Chains of spots and stains, all the fake
Passing strangers so eagerly make.
Let your consciousness be my shrine
I’ll lay there my thoughts to refine.
Let my spheres postpone the choice,
I’ll adjust their notes to your voice,
I’ll reflect you in million of prisms
I’ll accord you in infinite rhythms,
Then blue whispers of far alien dunes
Will recall me your doom-hidden tunes.
Let me bathe in your light till the end
When we come and find way to transcend
And diffuse into outer space -
Hand in hand, breath in breath, pace in pace.
Where expansions begin to shrink,
Where eternity lasts but a blink,
Let your kisses blaze new pulsing tracks
Through dimensional cul-de-sacks.
Let your pure love – an enigma –
Heal my sinful love - a deep stigma –
Time the symmetry of the stars,
Mark the galaxy by new scars,
Drive me under its infinite escort,
Be my icon, my altar, my mascot,
Burst my riots in a heavenly spell,
Tranquillize in a moment of hell.
In this small-portioned life let me linger
For a while with you, my dear singer.