Oleh Lysheha

“Suddenly, I was stopped by a quiet song . .
Somebody stood, swaying slowly on the road,
In the darkest shadow by a puddle,
And low above it a small tree grew . .
It might’ve been a wild cherry tree . .
He kept singing, watching the puddle fill . .
I dragged the pine through the water,
And with my other hand steadied my sack,
Where a bottle of red vino dangled . .
He didn’t move, but kept on singing . .
Should I have stopped there
And joined his singing? . .
Had he found
The one happy tree? . .
No one knows where it grows—
Or what it looks like . .
And who is allowed to recognize it? . .
I never stood under it,
Even to wait for rain to pass
Or watch between the drops
The silent froth appear . .
Swaying, he kept on singing . .
Otherwise, he would have fallen
And the rain stopped . .
He danced his own rain
Under that tree . .
I can’t do such things . .
Perhaps it was a wolf? . .”
― Oleh Lysheha, The Selected Poems