We meet. Poet of Belarus. Victoria Sokolovskaya. Встречаем поэта Victoria Sokolovskaya, Belarus

Victoria Sokolovskaya, Belarus
She was born in Polotsk, Belarus. Graduated from the Faculty of History and Philology of Polotsk State University. By education - a teacher of English, French. 2005 to 2019 lived and worked in Egypt. 2007 to present - Member of the People's Creative Association "Literary Ark", Polotsk. Author of 3 books of poems "Woman-Bird" (2005), "My Poems" (2010), "Egyptian Notebook" (2019). Diploma-recipient and finalist of international and interregional competitions. Laureate of the honorable mention of the World Literary and Poetry Competition "Golden Lyre of Hope" from the First A.S. Pushkin Literary Museum in the USA (New York, 2003). Laureate of the II degree of the IV interregional competition "Poet-Artist" (2007). 1st place in the poetry competition "Poems. Ya" (Egypt, 2014). 2nd place in the 3rd KS Badigin Interregional Literary Competition of Marine Painting (Kaliningrad, 2020). Laureate of the I degree of the XXXIV Open Festival "Vitebsk Leaf Fall" in the nomination "Poetry. Poems for Children" (Vitebsk, 2020). Laureate of the II degree of the Literary Internet Contest within the framework of the IV Literary Festival "Center of Europe" with international participation in the Poetry nomination, 1st place in the Audience Award nomination. Poetry". 1st place in the Open Poetry Competition-Festival "Literary Starks-2021" in the nomination "Poetry. Patriotic themes ”(city of Kolomna, 2021). 1st place in the VI regional literary competition "Steppe flares", dedicated to the 60th anniversary of Yu.A. Gagarin into space (Rostov-on-Don, 2021).
Victoria Sokolovskaya,Беларусь
Она родилась в Полоцке, Беларусь. Окончила историко-филологический факультет Полоцкого Государственного Университета. По образованию – учитель английского, французского. С 2005 по 2019г.г. жила и работала в Египте. С 2007 по н.в. – участник Народного творческого объединения «Литературный ковчег», Полоцк. Автор 3 книг стихов «Женщина-птица» (2005), «Мои стихи» (2010), «Египетская тетрадь» (2019). Дипломант и финалист международных и межрегиональных конкурсов. Лауреат поощрительной премии Всемирного литературно-поэтического конкурса «Надежды лира золотая» от Первого литературного музея А.С.Пушкина в США (Нью-Йорк, 2003). Лауреат II степени IV межрегионального конкурса «Поэт-артист» (2007). 1 место в поэтическом конкурсе «Стихи.Я» (Египет, 2014). 2 место в III межрегиональном литературном конкурсе маринистики им.К.С.Бадигина (Калининград, 2020). Лауреат I степени XXXIV Открытого фестиваля "Витебский листопад" в номинации "Поэзия. Стихи для детей" (Витебск, 2020). Лауреат II степени Литературного интернет-конкурса в рамках IV литературного фестиваля «Центр Европы» с международным участием в номинации «Поэзия», 1 место в номинации «Приз зрительских симпатий. Поэзия». 1 место в Открытом поэтическом конкурсе-фестивале «Литературные Старки-2021» в номинации «Поэзия. Патриотическая тематика» (г.о.Коломна, 2021). 1 место в VI областном литературном конкурсе «Степные всполохи», посвящённом 60-летию полёта Ю.А. Гагарина в космос (г.Ростов-на-Дону, 2021).

Victoria Sokolovskaya
***
The city died out. And the long streets dried up like rivers
streaming to the source in vain.
And the men who could not nest on time without hassle
are wandering along the hollow channels.

The gloomy city has globally lost its protection.
It's forever noon here, and the sun is always at its zenith.
On the scales of heaven, divine yoke,
the fate of rainfalls is being decided every moment.

The veins of the thermometers in the red fairways are swollen.
Good if it's 112 Fahrenheit now.
And during such a scorching heat, someone sincere and humble
in the depths of the slums had managed to touch a flute by his lips.

And it started to sing, the heiress of a pipe from Egypt,
without checking the notes, without any tablature...
The melody poured into the ribs of architecture
by the cryptograms of the images from an ancient manuscript.

Drop by drop, by chord the inspirational sounds were filling in
the city’s dense cocoon with hope,
as if the music was weaving life-giving water from the heat,
penetrating into the narrow cracks of doors and windows,

filling the cobbled promenades,
the galleries, the gates, the arches, the automobiles,
winding the bridges, the white-footed colonnades
and the golden spires sprinkled with sand.

And the wind, sentenced to death by the sun, woke up.
Awakened by the breeze, it stood up and
began to swing this huge world to the beat of the flute
as a light wave of the conductor's baton at a concert.

And the air swayed, taken in a fiery embrace
by the roof of heaven made burning hot in the deep silence,
and people sighed, having straightaway stopped doing
something slow and unimportant with one outcome.

And the sky fell to pieces, and the wind picked up the smithers
to sprinkle the rain cooling the body of the earth.
But someone humble continued to play the flute,
and the music flew into the world as a living prayer.

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