Natalia Govsha (Canada)

Natalia Govsha

Natalia Govsha has been writing poems and prose all of her life and has been drawing for many years. She studies philosophy, alchemy and synthesis of religions. This knowledge is reflected in her poems, stories and pictures.

     

Her first book of poems “Woman’s Diary” was published in 2015. “Woman’s Diary”, a collection of poetry, shares a reflection of women who have surrounded her, with their own life and their own love, joy, sorrow, and suffering. From passion to splashes of love, to mistakes, break ups, revival and forgiveness, forgiveness and hope . “Woman’s Diary” explores the lives of women and their souls-tender and mysterious.

       

Natalia’s second book of poems “IF YOU LOOK AT THE SKY” was published in 2018. This book about a person who wants to understand a single universal Mind that lives both in human beings and in the universe, initially and unconditionally; and who feels the vibration of true love – as the eternal primordial state of the world. This book is an attempt to turn symbols, allusions, allegories into something alive and sensually perceived, having flesh and blood, filled with personal being.

Natalia Govsha lives in Mississauga City, a province of Ontario, Canada, with her family.

 

HEART

There is
a little piece of metal
in the chest.
It’s gold
or silver,
or it’s steel,
or oxide,
even it is lead-evil.
Name it – Heart.
Imagine this –
glowing Gold
and Silver – are blessed.
All Oxides – a mixtures of compounds.
Steel – no real scars and wounds.
Lead – substance of arcane:
Lead is the bane.
But on your way,
God forbid, you will meet – Lead.
But
whatever be the heart,
maybe at least, once in a lifetime,
will be a moment when the heart becomes a winged –
it finds the rhythm,
harmonious with the rhythms of all hearts in the universe,
as on the earth so in the sky.
It happens when our Light Rays spread the love.
Heart stands inside of Golden Ratio,
the very basis of the life – in our microcosmic cells.
We reach the state of Spiritual Bliss.
At least, one time.

 

IN the GARDEN

I slowly penetrate
into the pink life of the apple petal,
and watch,
without breathing,
a delicious pink thirst for life,
seething,
such a short life – two, three days,
the irony of fate.
And then,
pink becomes a pale face.
Fades
and infinitely, falling down –
flies into eternity,
without any desires,
obeying the iron logic
of the continuation of life.

Then instead
appears a whitish-green lump,
unpleasant.
Day by day
the lump turns into a juicy apple –
the forbidden fruit
which always sweet,
seductive,
attractive,
with freedom’s scent.

I slowly penetrate
into the pink life of the apple petal,
with bated breath,
and see a circle of Time and Space.
I tear off the forbidden fruit
from the Tree of Knowledge.

 

CAROUSEL

I’ll ask.
Fate opens a narrow door for me.
And I’ll afraid, inside come in.
I will step over the abyss. I’ll stay in sin.
Remissive by myself and say, “Adieu” to kin.
And the golden carousel I’ll gently then untwist.
Oh, how troublous is this way…
Someplace…

But silence says instead
soul’s vibrant thread.
The cool moon turned to me from the dark side.
And my abyss – illusion of my mind.
And all my sins – delusion of my brain.
My cryptic love is only my desire –
as half of me is suspended in the sky,
but second half – is view of other sign.
And both together – up and down line.

Now – a starless night, now – glaring day.
Now – joy and shine, now – heartless shade.
Now call of the moon in murk of a sleeps,
now heady sun is kissing lips.

My destiny, which opened the door, will laugh,
“What did you see in moments, Hate or Love?”-
I’ll whisper, “I’ve seen Life”.

 

ВЕСНА

Сиреневое небо…
Поверх сиреневого – розовая небыль,
и золотая оттепель-капель,
из солнечных неоновых петель.
Моих видений акварель.
Апрель….

И вдруг качнулся дождь,
качнулся дождь,
на тонких ножках робко побежал.
Pанне-зеленую березовую дрожь
телячьим языком слизал.

 

ПИСЬМО ИММИГРАНТКИ

Я посох свой истерла до песка,
и вкровь сносила бренные оковы .
Я крест несу. Мой крест – моя тоска.
Он намертво к душе моей прикован.

Не так давно я выбрала его,
взвалив на плечи с нежною улыбкой.
Он горькой болью ест мое нутро.
Смеется-плачет он надорванною скрипкой.

…Моя вода иссякла. Долог путь.
Ни родника, ни дерева сухого.
Мне б снять его на миг и отдохнуть.
Мне встретить бы Тебя…Тебя живого.

Я поклонюсь… Я в ноги упаду…
И прорасту сквозь сушь земли травою.
Узреешь ли заблудшую траву,
засохшую, с склоненной головою?…

 

НЕ СУЖДЕНО

Как будто распускаю по петле
мою любовь – кольчугу согревающую.

И нет коня, и нет меня в седле.
…Горит свеча, плачущая, тающая…

И я горю – распята над костром,
горю по собственному своему желанию.

Трещит душа в огне иссохшим хворостом.
Искрится без сомненья и раскаяния…

И лишь чуть-чуть осталось догореть
до глаз твоих, живой водой томящихся.

Остался пепел дат бледнеть и тлеть.
Остался шепот губ моих молящихся.

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