Along the ledge, on a brink of a precipice. I lash my horses, drive them on. Somehow the air is not enough for me, I drink the wind, I swallow the fog, Feeling with a reckless delight, that I am vanishing, vanishing. Slow down my horses, slow down! Donít listen the tight whip! But somehow I got the capricious horses - I didnít finish living; I will not end my song. I will let my horses drink water, I will finish sing my verse. For a moment, somehow I will stand on the edge... I will go like a feather from a hand - the hurricane will sweep me, And the galloping horses will pull my sleigh on the morning snow. Pace yourselves, my horses, do not hurry, Let my last way to the shelter will be longer, just a little! Slow down, my horses slow down! The whip and lash are not your overseers! But somehow I got the capricious horses - I didnít finish living; I will not end my song. I will let my horses drink water, I will finish sing my verse. For a moment, somehow I will stand on the edge. Weíve come in time: no late comings to God, - Why then angels sing with such vicious voices? Or is it a ringing bell got numb from sobbing? Or is it me, crying to the horses not to carry the sleigh so fast?! Slow down my horses, slow down! I beg you, do not ran at such fast pace! But somehow I got the capricious horses - I didnít finish living; I will not end my song. I will let my horses drink water, I will finish sing my verse. For a moment, somehow I will stand on the edge.
© Oleg Dimov. Translation, 2011