Vadim Shefner

They all were light, and easy was their fate --
There’s no trouble in the flight in silence, --
The clouds flew to sun across the strait, 
Like little moths – to fire’s tempting dances.

Like blossoms’ petals, never yore seen, 
Thrown aside by wind in fatal instant,
They boldly flew over the green of sea
To fall, at last, by shores in hazy distance.

But here a reed clinged to the tired oar,
The week-willed rudder dodged or simply loiter’d,
And we were carried o’er the tired water
By rambling current, tired long ago.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, April, 2001