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(The Spirit of the Poetry)
By Anastasia Volnaya
Copyright© 2017 Anastasia Volnaya
Golden month has painted light of beauty of night. As the darkness which has contained light is fine! The glass angel standing on a window sill has been surrounded with an aura of light reflected in him. As if live, as if animated, he trumpet the anthem in the small horn to light. Heart of darkness – light. Who has believed in darkness, in this phantom, the myth? Darkness doesn't exist. There is no darkness. Also as there is no death. Darkness – a canvas under light paints. Death – a step to new life. The angel made of glass will sometime break, but light filled him once, is eternal. And the anthem that it is played on a small horn, will always sound.
Not having flesh and therefore feeling pain. With chasms instead of eyes and therefore all-seeing. Having immense cruelty and therefore gives lives. Touchingly merciful and therefore killing. Silent and therefore all-knowing. All-knowing and therefore silent. Great to incomprehensible. Incomprehensible to great. Dominating over a thought and subject only to a thought. Forever living and therefore knowing death. Knowing death and therefore forever living.
With love to Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's creativity
(Parable fairy tale)
– This is an angel – the boy has told, explaining value of the drawing to the adult.
– Where a nimbus over the head of an angel? – the adult has asked. The boy has pointed to the sun represented by a felt-tip pen.
– And about angelic clothes you have forgotten? – the adult continued to be perplexed. The boy has pointed to the drawn crowns.
– And footwear? The angel by all means has to have a footwear! – the adult became angry. The boy with a smile has concerned green hyphens of the grass represented by him.
– Look at easter cards or at engravings in ancient books, – angels of a winged. Why I don't see wings at your angel? – the adult has asked a question. The boy has in reply opened a box of a desk and has got the dried butterfly from the adult's collection from there. Has put it on the drawing and has led round on a contour. There was a miracle! The butterfly has recovered, became shining and multi-colored as the boy's felt-tip pens. The butterfly has flushed and, having roamed over the drawing, has flown away to an open window. And the drawn angel had had wings.