Basandaika in winter

The Basandaika River meanders between the willows.
Always beckons to itself.
Give me your beauty!

I try to paint it with transparent watercolors.
With water, with melted mold,
as if I were washing myself.

The river is silent, asleep,
the murmur is barely audible,
it clung to the ice of the banks,
probably as a punishment.