Like a Brazier’s Bronze Cinders...Как бронзовой золой жаровень...
On The RoadВ дороге
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The noise dies. I walk on stage.
Leaning on the door’s frame,
from the far echo I try to gauge
what they’ll put against my name.

Night’s shadow is focused on me,
through a thousand opera-glasses.
Abba, Father, if it may be,
see that this cup passes.

I love your stubborn plan,
I’m content to play the scene.
But another play’s on hand:
for this once, let me be.

Yet the sequence of acts is set,
and the end of the road foreseen.
I’m alone: the Pharisees are met.
To live’s - not to cross a field.
Tony Kline

Hum has died away. I’m going out

On the stage, and leaning on a post,
Sensing in an echo's distant sound
What there is to happen down the road.

Through the oodles of focused opera glasses,
I‘m confronted by the gloom of night.
If it is an option, Abba! Father!
I implore you, pass this chalice by!

I’m along with your consistent doctrine,
And I’m ready to accept this stance.
Wait! This time, it is another story.
Do a favor, spare me for this once!

Only the routine is reasoned out,
And a fatal end is preordained.
I’m alone, hypocrisy around.
Life to live is not a field to range.
Slava Chetin

Гул затих. Я вышел на подмостки.
Прислонясь к дверному косяку,
Я ловлю в далеком отголоске,
Что случится на моем веку.

На меня наставлен сумрак ночи
Тысячью биноклей на оси.
Если только можно, Aвва Oтче,
Чашу эту мимо пронеси.

Я люблю твой замысел упрямый
И играть согласен эту роль.
Но сейчас идет другая драма,
И на этот раз меня уволь.

Но продуман распорядок действий,
И неотвратим конец пути.
Я один, все тонет в фарисействе.
Жизнь прожить - не поле перейти.