Along the ledge of the abyss, on the very edge of it, I lash my horses out, urging them on... Running out of air, I drink the wind, I swallow the fog, I feel with a damned extasy that I am done for, done for! Slow down a bit, my horses, slow down! Donít listen to the tight whip! But I got some fastidious horses - I didnít finish living, now my song will be cut short. I will let my horses drink, I will finish my verse - For a moment, at least, I will stand on the edge... When I am gone - the hurricane will sweep me, a snowflake off the palm, And horses will pull my sleigh at full speed on the snow that morning, Pace yourselves, my horses, Lengthen the way to my last shelter, even for a little bit! Slow down, my horses, slow down! The whip is not your overseer! But I got some fastidious horses - I didnít finish living, now my song will be cut short. I will let my horses drink, I will finish my verse - For a moment, at least, I will stand on the edge... Weíve come in time: there is no such thing as being late for God, - Why do then those angels sing so viciously? Or is it a bluebell that grew numb from sobbing? Or is it me, crying for the horses not to carry the sleigh so fast?! Slow down a bit, my horses, slow down! I beg you, do not tear away at such mad pace! But I got some fastidious horses - I didnít live enough, at least I should finish my song! I will let my horses drink, I will finish my verse - For a moment, at least, I will stand on the edge...
© Nellie Tkach. Translation, ?