I lived in my ma and pa’s flat In the Arbat, lucky me! Now I’m swaddled in a bed that’s In the field infirmary. What of fighting on the right side, Worldly cares, Klava the nurse? Now my neighbour on the right’s died; On my left he’s getting worse. Then one day all of a fever That guy in the left-hand bed Burst out saying: "Listen, geezer, Did you know you’ve lost your leg?" Was he joking? Have I heard wrong? Come on, mates, it can’t be so. I was promised by the surgeon: "We’ll just amputate the toes." But more jokes and more guffaws came From that self-same left-hand bed - If he raved before the dawn came He’d still talk about my leg. He’d say, mocking: "You won’t get up, Bet your wife finds someone else." Comrade, if you ever let up Take a good look at yourself. If I wasn’t such a wreck and I could get down off this bed, Then I’d strangle in a second That damn neighbour on my left. I’ve been begging Sister Klava: "Show me please what I’ve become." My right neighbour, the cadaver, Would have told me what they’ve done.
© Margaret & Stas Porokhnya. Translation, 2008