Wake as you will, but wake in me, —
in the cold, in the voiceless depths of me.
I will not beg for words, but give
me a sign that you are still alive.
Not for long — just a moment of your time.
If not a verse, just a sigh, just a cry.
Just a whisper or just a moan.
Just the muffled clink of your chains.
Очнись,как хочешь, но очнись во мне —
в холодной, онемевшей глубине.
Я не мечтаю — вымолить слова.
Но дай мне знак, что ты еще жива.
Я не прошу — надолго, хоть на миг.
Хотя б не стих, а только вздох и крик.
Хотя бы шепот только или стон.
Хотя б цепей твоих негромкий звон.
«I’m given a body — what to do with thee, / So much unique, so much belong to me? For the quiet happiness to breathe and live / My gratefulness — to whom it shall I give? I’m a gardener and I’m a flower as well, / I’m not alone in th’ earthly prison cell. And all my breath and ...»
«A body was given to me — what to do with it, / So unique and so much my own? For the quiet joy of breathing and living, / Who is it, tell me, that I must thank? I am the gardener, I am the flower as well, / In the dungeon of the world I am not alone. On the glass of eternity has already ...»
«It's so my own and so familiar. What should / I do with this God-given flesh and blood? For joys so quiet as to live and breathe, / Who will receive my gratitude for these? I'm both the gardener and flower one, / In this world's dungeons I am not alone. On the glass of the eternal one can s...»
«What shall I do with the body I've been given, / So much at one with me, so much my own? For the quiet happiness of breathing, being able / To be alive, tell me to whom I should be grateful? I am gardener, flower too, and not alone / In the world's dungeon. My warmth, my exhalation, one can...»