Sasha Chorny
My Romance

Some like maids, and others — marquesas
To each his own, as they say —
The concierge's daughter (her name is Lisa)
Has stolen my heart away.

Lisa is known to be timid and private —
Our autumn romance is discreet.
Her mother is strict and my Lisa keeps quiet
Whenever we secretly meet.

I twirl my moustache to look debonair
And tune my guitar to sing;
I gave her my gifts: a portrait of Voltaire
And pretty green beads on a string.

The wind plays its fugue in the rainy weather,
A Russian shawl warms our backs.
We cling to each other while munching together
On almonds, a savory snack.

Following Lisa, her big cat comes over
And scratches his paws on the floor.
He stretches his back and then arching it slowly,
Springs right on my desk with a purr.

The teakettle hums in the kitchen, homely
My mantelpiece cactus looks on...
I hold Lisa's hands; they are warm and lovely.
Her eyes dance like two frisky fawns.

The 20th century no longer owns us,
We don't grieve the past in the least
We are like two Robinson Crusoes, two loners
Enjoying our almond feast.

The stairs then groan with a creaking sound,
There comes a knock on the wall.
And Lisa must leave me, her eyes cast down
Obeying her mother's strict call.

The books on my ancient table are scattered,
There are sticky nuts in my hat.
Hear the sofa, hot tea has been splattered
And the scarf on the floor is all wet.

Still, I would like to make something clear
Once Lisa has closed the door
Why would we hide it? Her birthday is near...
Tomorrow she will turn four!

Translated by Olga Dumer