Bulat Okudzhava
I walk and I listen to what must be...

I walk and I listen to what must be
The best little song on this earth.
I’m feeling the movement inside of me
Of its simple music and verse.

It is immature and still very new,
Still very unsung — but the light
Of heavenly music comes vaguely through,
And orderly verses fit right.

I hear through the time still unlived by me,
Through brief joy and tears that we shed:
Some trumpet is playing its melody
From days that lie somewhere ahead.

Light, merry, and strange — where the roads are crossed,
It flies in a circling ring,
That one little song, one which means the most —
One I’ve been unable to sing.

Translated by Evgenia Sarkisyants