Bella Akhmadulina

They grew inside a warming-house,
under the guidance of a cell,
their roots were sunk in fat and nourish,
and petals – always thin and well.
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
Warm was the house they did sit in. 
They gave them water, soil and light:
not for the reason of a pity
or wishing them a long-long life.

They are the gay gifts – to remember. 
But bad a fate to wait them in,  
because they never will be able 
to smell like their garden kin.

They would not stay the red lips middle,
they would not sway the golden bee,
they would not ever solve the riddle
whatever the wet earth could be.   


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, April, 2001