О тяжёлом труде переводчиков⁠⁠

In realms of script and scribe, on languid lexicon’s frontier,

Labor those minds resplendent, in lingual panoply so sheer.

Unseen, unheard, unheralded, they ply their noble trade,

The polyglot conveyors of prose, where thoughts and dreams are made.

From argent dawn's first dew-drenched rays to twilight’s cerulean fall,

They sieve the verbal detritus, till truth remains to enthral.

They grapple with the gnomic glyphs, in cryptic cuneiform dance,

Like alchemists, they transmute words, with a nuance-laden glance.

In the labyrinthine lexicon, they find their serried ranks,

Decoding the cacophony, in tongue-tied terms and pranks.

They parse the parables, the puns, the prescience and the pathos,

Every trope and turn of phrase, from sagacious minds of pathos.

Where epigrams and epithets in babel-babble twine,

The translators, like silent sentinels, on syntax's spectral line,

Unweave the warp and woof of words, in tapestry entwined,

They wrestle with the dialects, till meaning’s gems they find.

Their quills, the conquistadors of context, cultural code,

The cynosure of solace for the traveler on the road.

Their craft, a testament to empathy, understanding's key,

In their hands, foreign phrasing finds its filigree.

Translators, taciturn and wise, in their own prosody reside,

Midst the babel's brash bravado, in silence they confide.

They illuminate the hidden hues in the spectrum of expression,

Melding meaning, mending gaps, they're language’s confession.

Their task is Sisyphean, yet they stride with steadfast heart,

For each day brings a fresh tableau, another piece of art.

Through the ether of estrangement, they weave their magic thread,

In their silent sonnetry, our common human story's read.

So, let's toast to these unsung heroes, on the parchment’s hallowed field,

Who unveil language’s veil and the secrets it does yield.

Salute their dedication, as they strive to understand,

Every utterance of mankind, on this wide, word-weaving land.