Sergey Streltsov.

The Confessions of a Christian. Book 5.

 

#1

Lord Jesus Christ had resurrected not in vain.

He resurrects each moment in our hearts.

He preached and taught and finally was slain.

And it's where history of new religion starts.

He was the Prophet, Son of God and God.

He never laughed and wept a lot.

And when I die He'll bless me from His Throne

Because my heart was torn by all His Crown's thorn.

 

#2

Saint Mary blessed me once when I was young

And song of life was still had not been sung.

She asked me “What you wish to see in life?”

I answered “Wife of lyre and lyre of wife.”

“You will have all.” She said and angels smiled

Not mockingly but only meek and mild.

So now I wait the gift me promised then.

And years go and soon they will be ten.

 

#3

My mother old and wise or young and pretty

Was always righteous, always witty.

She saved but not once us from misery

Of bondage human priests tried to decree.

And now we're free and happy and in Church

And sing and read and staying at the porch

I tell to new-borne souls the story of

Unrighteous priests and mother's love.

 

#4

Who do not know the Mother of The God?

Her name is Mary and she did a lot.

She cried at Cross of Son, and then obtained

Saint blessing from The God to make us saint.

It's true. But if despised by you

She'll bless you with the vision of the true.

It's love forever without any loss.

It's love of Jesus on the Cross.

 

#5

I love my God, it's secret from the all.

The Heav'n is far but I hear call

From there to sing about kings and monks

In many songs, in many tongues.

I sing and think – o why through world alone

I bear my gift as precious stone?

Why others don't feel Christian when to sing

Their passions them do move, do draw, do bring.

 

#6

I hope I die when finish all

I'm due to do by hand and soul.

Unfinished toil is spoil for reader

Who Providence to reconsider.

I don't want tempt immature hearts.

The love and wisdom are on charts

Of poetry of mine that was

No perfect gain, no perfect loss.

 

#7

My duty is to sing the Lord

Who's Jesus Christ, Who's Truth and Word.

But world despised His grace and love,

His Gospel given from above.

I try to reason with the world

But I'm unknown and unheard.

But when I die you read this verse

With prayer honest, sweet and terse.

 

#8

So many churches on the earth.

There's Protestant, there's Lutheran,

Catholic, and The Orthodox.

But where to run? But where to run?

I Russian Orthodox am Christian.

It's not occasion, it's my due.

And if my faith is shared by you

            We're both on mission.

 

#9

So many times I tried to learn

The wrong from right, the right from wrong.

But now I'm taught to be the man

That nothing could and nothing can.

I'm helpless. Sorry if you worry -

It's perfect reason to be sorry.

The science of the life is try

Be standing by or walking by.

 

#10

My monstrous heart - it ever wants

The dreams come true whichever haunts

It by its presence – it's no question

Of righteous thinking or perception.

My dreams are foolish – happiness

Is all they ask for. What a mess!

I know not peace of soul so long

That I suspect there's something wrong.

 

#11

Deny your soul! Deny your dream!

The God is here. All for Him!

Your love and home and friends of youth

Will never match the simplest truth

That sacrifice and saint and pure

They can be to your old heart cure.

We live by rules of misery

Of men from sin who're never free.

 

#12

The song on radio to tell

That we are here for shortest spell.

And timespan of life is grief

Of the misfortune in mischief.

I look around and what I see

The raucous choir of tombs to be.

And all we do is our donation

For the perdition or salvation.

 

#13

I took my notebook to write few lines

Not tearful – so away with brines!

I write of life that's income of

The hatred gone and coming love.

If just to balance this equation

We will find way to salvation.

If forget the grace of years

We're to live – it's all the tears.

 

#14

The death is awful scaffold for

Our life and love we had in store.

The Judge to sentence each to go

Whichever one deserves. I know

That mercy is not to be bought

It can be merited with God.

I like to think that finally

I'll have my paradise of glee.

 

#15

Christmas comes it's time to drink

To the health of healthy think

Of the life and what be after.

It's not subject to the laughter.

Darkness ever or the light

Is our choice by inborn right.

I choose life but someone else

Can pretend he's chosen death.

 

#16

Untrue to rule of poetry

To plead one guilty of the spree

Of the rhymes and lines and measures

That are all poetic treasures.

Prosaic verse is to avoid

All these by which this poem spoiled.

I plead me guilty of the spree

Of merchandise of poetry.

 

#17

Whichever happens I'm to dance

To sounds of triumph that immense.

It's triumph of poet who

Was true to life and life was true

To him. His lyre was instrument

Both of content and discontent

With all around. The Glory knows

Which way it stops, which way it goes.

 

#18

It's fishy how I did succeed

In simple my poetic creed.

To be prophetic simpleton

Is way my glory I have won.

Destroying glamor of the sin

Is way my poetry has been.

I'm prophecy of better way

Whatever all my poems say.

 

#19

I did not take into account

The sin in deadly an amount.

I took the song from Heaven where

Is everything and kind and fair.

My song's my treasure all I have.

It gave me life and still it gave

Me right to live forever

Till reader will be blessed be clever.

 

#20

What will happen to my book?

I don't know. But look! But look!

It has nothing with malign

Worldly wisdom. It has sign

Of Divine the inspiration

That was doom from the Creation

To sophisticate the truth

Till the death and since the youth

To demystify the reason

Of the sin in all precision.

 

#21

Liberty of line of mine

Is good omen of benign

Way that poetry to go

To have own part of show.

Liberty of line of mine

Is the outspoken sign

Of the love to fellow being

Till the end and since beginning.

 

#22

Look – I'm poet. What it is?

Never mind, it's rare the bliss

To deny pecuniary

Job, and to be poor and free.

Sing with me about the love

Which is rare and hot the stuff.

Sing with me eternally

It's my last and final plea.

 

#23

On pretext of being next

Glorious genius of text

I implore you to conceive

Righteous creed of the belief.

Now it's snowing in my city.

All around turns out pretty.

Be your soul pure like a snow

Never mind of friend or foe.

 

#24

Love is happenstance of life -

Occasion can become the wife

To bear the children manifold

To look and scold, to look and scold.

Love happens ever everywhere

To look and stare, to look and stare.

Love to decree new rule of life -

Occasion can become the wife.

 

#25

Sometime I speak or write in French.

It's not to hook some easy wench.

I love this language tragic so

That there always tragic show

In Paris and it's not alone -

Racine, Corneille are not all gone.

French poetry is tragic thing

But soft in moods up to the brink.

 

#26

Don't. Don't try me even more

To forgo to distant shore

Of oblivion. I'm to stay

With the human race to say

That there's God, there's Truth, there's death.

I confess what I confess.

Poetry of my to live

Ever after to reprieve

Those ungrateful to the Heaven.

It's a gift that I've been given.

 

#27

Italian song of times of old

Will do me good. So I've been told.

And truly tunes of airs of these

Has nothing other but to please.

In Moscow winter I attune

My hearing never less immune

To song of Italy of old.

It does me good. So I've been told.

 

#28

The jazz of new, the jazz of old...

When wind is so unkindly cold

Boil my blood with glint of wine

So the poetry of mine.

Jazzy to the scale of hot

It had brought me what it brought.

Namely it's my love for peace

Innermost of heart to please.

 

#29

Fairy tales of happy love

Flying on the wing of dove.

Children listen to achieve

Healthy sleep. So why to give

Harsh reprisal to this stuff.

Would be somewhere in above

There's angel of the fairy tales

That's to stand in future gales.

 

#30

I daydreaming though it's night.

Am I right? O, am I right?

Not of glory, not of gold,

Not of story still untold.

Dream of mine to go away

When begins the new-borne day.

It's of love I did forget,

It's of girl in youth I met.