Nikolay Grebnev

Soon after her berth, she befell into this
Pull, filled with a slit, old and dirty,  
There, she caught her crumbs, played with dirt of the slit,
And always was strangled and potty.

And all that she saw in the whole wide world: 
The pull and the leaves that fell down
From dry grown bushes, and sky that was bored 
With one spear of the bold bough.

The dirty lost pull, with the fat slit and mold,
With half-rotten leaves, fallen down…
I’m sorry, for it seems to my fish of gold
Like the whole world, spread around.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, May, 2001