Maximilian Alex Voloshin

1877-1932 / Russia

To Maya

Awash in flowers, colors riot,
Descending slowly from a hill,
She nears and stars…
Who are you?
- Maya.
I am so grateful that you're here.
Your lambent eyes are beaming. Name is -
Elusive as an unfinished dream.
I am bedazzled by your phantoms
And by sweltering sunbeams.
Come in and be.
I was expecting
News of my fate. And in your arms
I find genista and sunflowers,
Clear summer’s midday ardent charms.
Can’t take my eyes of you… A glossy,
Straight wave of hair veils your forehead.
The windstorm's radiance is racing
To form a halo above your head.
A childish smile changed your expression.
Yet trace of sadness touched your lips.
The sweat stood out above your eyebrows
Just like a chain of little pearls.
A dark gold suntan bestowed its shadows
Upon your cheeks, kissed by the sun.
Graced by the flowers… you ran…
Enmeshed in white and flaming halos…
Who are you? Child? Tsarina? Page?
I am embracing the idea
Of you - the earth's noon mirage,
Illusion, sweet deception… – maya.
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