I have forgotten what is in my hands:
A heart, a hat, or a cane?
In the gardens of the Lord
Grape bunches ripen.
Ahead the cry: "don't,"
Behind: "return."
All that is quiet is the path
Leading upwards.
Shouldn't I follow it?
Maybe, if no sin is committed,
On the azure path
The soul will become a bird.
Позабыл, что в руках:
Сердце, шляпа иль трость?..
Зреет в Отчих садах
Виноградная гроздь.
Впереди крик: «нельзя»,
Позади: «воротись».
И тиха лишь стезя,
Уходящая ввысь.
Не по ней ли идти?
Может быть, не греша,
На лазурном пути
Станет птицей душа.
«Wait for me, and I'll return! / Wait with all your might! / Wait, when yellow foliage rains / Will tell you to stop. / Wait when snows are falling fast, / Wait through summer's heat, / Wait when yesterdays are past, / Others are forgotten all. / Wait, when from remote places, / ...»
«August – asters, / August – starlight, / August – bunches / Of ripe grapes and rusty rowan / Berries – August! With benev’lent, sound, befitting / Emperors, your apple regal, / Like a child, you’re playing, August. / Like a palm, your name smooths heartache, / Emperors b...»
«August – asters, / August – astral, / August – clusters / Of ripe grapes and rusty / Rowan – August! / Like a child, who’s playing gladly / With a ball, you’re playing, August, / With your orb, so, huge and heavy. / Like a palm is to a bosom, / Is your name imperial, ...»
«I Down the alley, the horses are led, / Their long wavy manes - all combed out, / A place full of riddles, how I lament, / Having fallen in love with this town. It’s strange to recall: the soul pined for joy, / Only gasping for breath to pull through, / And now I’ve become a playthin...»