I see the snow
On the ground,
And there is no
Sound.
There is the white sky.
There is the white day.
And the wind says “Good-bye!”
To the clouds of grey.
In the unreal distance,
The sun’s like a white minster,
And a wanderer goes toward the white sun.
Maybe, he is an angel,
Or only a stranger
In his coat of dun.
I see the snow
On the ground,
And there is no
Sound.
About the author
Maxim Sviridenkov is a writer, journalist, translator and literary critic. Born in 1984, he worked in newspapers and magazines, translated books for the leading Russian publishing house, “Eksmo.” For his fiction, he was awarded the 2003 annual prize of the newspaper “Literaturnaya Rossiya” (“Literary Russia”). He lives in Smolensk, Russia.
