E. Nikolaevsky

My heart’s rebellious, seeing solemn shade 
Of freezing grass. My soul’s ever tortured,
When a blue star burns out on its raid,
And falls into a grave’s hill like a rocket.

Where is a sense? Who is for mercy prayed?
Why, in the world, is all so harshly wasted – 
All that exists?…They come to get away.
And he who’s gone will not be back awaited.

My heart’s rebellious: why all this has end –
All, born by Cosmos, everlasting, yet?…

But my mind’s calm. All plays its own play.
Leave silly fancies! All is moved, rotated… 
World has its end. It comes to get away.
And he who’s gone will not be back awaited.

My mind is calm… The arguing hasn’t a sense.
I know all: unbending and severe,
Long-long ago there had been passed sentence
And cancelled time permitting to rehear. 


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2001