КАМЕННАЯ ПТИЦА. Анимационный фильм

Have you heard the legend of the stone bird, That for a thousand years, without hope of a drink, In the square of kings and people, For the sake of a peculiar kind of amusement, Like a nail in a pier board, Stood motionless? But one day, the dome of the sky Was cut by its wings. However, let's take it one step at a time. From time immemorial, pirates came here, Invading the mountains imperiously and unceremoniously, Not wishing to trade with their peaceful neighbors. After successful robberies, Avid people flocked to the square to drink wine. Almost the entire city was drawn, To the patch of ground ripped open by stone wings. After draining the bottles, they smashed them. All against the same stone wings. Prisoners were forced to jump onto glass, Promising to lead those who hadn't bled out of the hail, But then they laid them bound where the fire was, And shouted, "Fire is your reward!" One day, a boy was thrown onto a bird's tail, And below and all around, the brushwood ignited. He stroked the relief of the carved feathers, Said: "You will fly someday, I believe." And a shudder set in, as if the crater Of a dormant volcano began to fill with lava. As if the last survivor of a clan Calls the resurrected clan to battle on the day of Glory [1]. Meanwhile, retribution widened its strides, The neighboring tribes reached the point of no return, A kite raised the flag of the united tribes, An attack on the city walls began. All the fighting men from the valleys were gathered From the fortified area in the cliffs against the pirates, And as if the disasters weren't enough, Fire rushed from the square to every quarter. The defenders were drunk. And, offering no resistance, At the city wall They fell under the axes with groans of amazement. The boy crawled from the tail to the neck, "You, winged friend, you will wake up, I believe." Stone chips fell from the bird's eyes, As if something was calling, bubbling within them. "Stone bird, If only we could soar into the sky, Knowing that all is not a dream – Our faces are in the wind. Or become ashes, Or the stars will accept us, Fly with me, Or it will be too late." The first flap of wings, then the second, And the alien flutters away like stone crust. Here comes the third flap of wings— And the wind receives them both. And with a victorious cry Calling all its own, Approaching the mountain peaks, The bird will meet the flock. * [1] A unique phenomenon among Orthodox Christians, known as the "Glory of the Cross," exists only among Serbs. This centuries-old custom vividly reflects the self-awareness of the entire Serbian people and speaks volumes about the uniqueness of the Serb national tradition, with its inherent principle of the organic duality of "faith and blood," the spiritual and the national. The Glory of the Cross is the most important family holiday for every Orthodox Serb, the heavenly patron of the entire family and clan. It is celebrated once a year, on the feast day of the saint to whom the Glory of the Cross is dedicated. * Other poems by Fr. Procopius https://stihi.ru/avtor/oprokopy With video and audio    • Стихи   https://rutube.ru/plst/715971 https://vkvideo.ru/playlist/-184086372_10 * Social media and links to materials by Fr. Procopius: https://taplink.cc/oprokopy