video_Русалка-11, Eng

Vladimir Yelin Mermaid in Love Chapter 11. Longing for the Mermaid In Crimea, the days slipped by, No fog drifted upon the sea. Alone in his studio, hour by hour, He painted her face in quiet grief. He thought of her—the ocean guest— And of the merman by her side, How he had carried him to shore With power no man could hope to hide. He still recalled that eerie moment— The merman shared a surge of light When, weak and floating by the boat, He searched his soul for what was right. Late at night he strained to grasp How merfolk spoke from mind to mind. “How do they read our thoughts so fast?” A mystery not easily defined. He painted new scenes on the canvas wide, With her in every fluid line, Then stood for hours, brush held aside, In silence, chasing some design. He picked up his old guitar from the wall And strummed a chord with shaking hand— A single note—Isis—called, His heart clenched tight; he barely could stand. While tracing soft lines of her youthful face, He paused, then froze—it struck him so: Her gaze, her features, that distant grace— She looked like a muse from Kramskoy’s soul. Outside, the fog turned silver and thin. The barometer dropped. The air grew cold. The lamps still burned on streets wind-swept— It’s time for the sea… the morning unfolds.