The girls, those who pace
With boots of black eyes
Upon the flowers of my heart.
The girls who put javelins
Upon their eyelashes’ lakes.
The girls who wash their feet
In the lake of my words.
Девушки, те, что шагают
Сапогами черных глаз
По цветам моего сердца.
Девушки, опустившие копья
На озера своих ресниц.
Девушки, моющие ноги
В озере моих слов.
«The white birch / Under my window / Wrapped herself in snow / As though in silver. / / Like snow borders / On fluffy branches, / White fringes of tassels / Have blossomed. / / And the birch stands / In listless silence, / And the snowflakes burn / In the golden fire. / ...»
«Out came the Lord to test humanity’s love, / Walked out into a field in the guise of a beggar. / An old man sitting on a stump in an oak grove / Was chewing a dry crumpet with his toothless mouth. / / The old man saw the beggar walking / Down the path with an iron cane / And thought...»
«In the land of yellow nettle / And dried-out wattle / Village huts, like orphans, / Cling to willows. / / In the fields, behind the ravine’s blue thicket, / Among green lakes, / The sand road stretches up to / The Siberian Mountains. / / Lost somewhere in Mordva and Chuda, / ...»
«I’m tired of living in my native land, / Yearning for the vast fields of buckwheat. / I’ll leave my shack / To be a vagrant and a thief. / / I’ll walk the white curls of the day / To look for some wretched lodging. / And, seeing me, my best friend / Will sharpen his boot knife...»