S. Goncharenko

Oh, give me your hand, my hope!
Let’s go o’er the hill’s ridge, unknown,
there, where, like the heavenly globes,
shine stars in the soul my own.
And shade with your hand, another,
my eyes on the way, none know,
and lead me farther and farther –
the dazzled by your palm’s snow.
But then we’ll see spaces, silvered
by light of the gentle sadness – 
the mouth of the love-river 
under the heart’s moon, wealthiest.
Save me in my heart’s abode
from deserts, in which we roam, 
and beat to the deeps a road  - 
to blue of the heavens’ dome. 


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, December, 2002