A. Geleskool

The violets -- the faded, the fragrance from the distance,
From what a world, another, had come they now here?
From youth, fully forgotten, and gone not asking reasons,
From heart of dear woman, from palms her so dear?

But, may be, it flew here due to the causal fancies,
The scattered airy flow, that’s mute behind low grounds,
Or in the land of blankness, so green and full of sadness,
It echoes the bright hopes’ and partings’ dying sounds?

But there’s aroma, girlish, of spring nights’ quiet madness,
Of verses, old and dear, of words at the first meeting,
Of gentle silver April, extinguished in light sadness – 
The sadness so painless with jokes so fleeting…


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, December, 2002