Bulat Okudzhava
The word is instant, and life is short...

The word is instant, and life is short.
Where does man find his dwelling spot?

Where in the world, where in nature’s lap
do the roses of his living soul spring up?

How does he manage to find a way
to keep to himself, and to have his say,

to sing his songs, walk around the world,
turn his heart from iron to gold?

How does he manage a funny man,
on fairs of kisses and fuss and fun,

amidst flattery, shots and strife,
to pick out nothing else but love?

A splinter will draw his blood to jeers:
«Did you want love ? Now here h it is !»

A slap in the face in the paradise:
«Did you want love ? Now here’s your price!»

And yet he contrives, a funny man,
on fairs of kisses, wrangles and fun,

amidst flattery, feasts and strife,
to pick out nothing else but love!

Translated by Alec Vagapov