Word.

In the day when above the new world
God inclined kind face of His,
Sun could be stopped by a word,
A word could destroy entire cities.

And an eagle didn't flap his wings,
The terrified stars hid behind the moon
When, as the flames of pink,
A word floated by the skies at noon.

While for the lower life there were numbers
Like a simple animals in a barn,
For a smart number can express
Any shade of the mind.

A gray-haired wizard 
Having knowledge of both evil and good,
Not daring to trust to the sound,
In the sand a number drew.

But all of us have forgotten that only a word 
Is sacred among troubles of life,
And in the Evangeline by John
It says that a word is God.

We set up as its boundaries
The bariers of poor existance,
And like a bee in an empty beehouse
The dead words smell horrible, not sweet.

This poem was written by a Russian poet Gumilyov. I really love his poetry so I decided to traslate this one here.