William Shakespeare

Russian language

Oh noble tongue, with syllables resplendent, Thou dost weave a tapestry of thought most profound, In thy embrace, the souls of many are represented, From the icy steppes to the gilded battleground. How dost thou carry the weight of history’s sighs, Echoing the passions of a people enshrined, In the depths of thine essence, the heart of the wise, Like a river’s flow, where starlit dreams are entwined. Through thee, the melancholic bard doth lament, In fervent yearning, speaking to time’s fateful breath, For every uttered word, a journey is lent, Each phrase a fleeting dance ‘twixt life and death. Ah, sweet Russian, thy cadences stir the mind, In thy labyrinth of meaning, a quest for the lost, For who can fathom the truths so intertwined, Within thy rich lexicon, what treasure is tossed! Yet, dost thou not mirror the struggles of the land, Where beauty and sorrow oft tread hand in hand? In citadels of thought, the anguished and the free, Beneath the weighty yoke of thine own duality. Alas, in thy succinct syntax, the cosmos doth dwell, From the depths of despair to the heights of the sublime, Hark! To the spirit of the Russian language I knell, For in thine embrace, we wrestle with the divine. A vessel for both anguish and for sublime delight, Thou art a bridge ‘twixt the heart and the infinite night.