* * *
It makes me sad to look at you,
Oh, what a pain, or what a sorrow!
We’re left with willows’ copper hue
In this September chilly morrow.
Strange lips have scattered and dispelled
Your body warmth and tender quivers.
As if my torpid soul repelled
The drizzle through erratic shivers.
So what! I’m not afraid of this.
There is a joy for me to witness.
Though nothing left to reminisce,
But for the yellow rot and wetness.
Though I have not conserved myself
For peaceful life, for gentle smiles...
How many blunders I befell?
The roads I walked… How many miles?
Pathetic life, pathetic split,
What happened will keep on resurging.
The graveyard of our orchard spilled
The gnawed up bare-bone birches.
And so we’ll bloom and fade away
Like noises from a barren orchard…
Since winter doesn't bring bouquets,
No use to wallow in misfortune.
Translated by Dina Belyayeva