There’s ice above me and there’s ice below, Ought I to dive or pop up like a cork? To love and hope never saying “no”, Awaiting visas, I must work and work. This ice will crack and out I will clamber, All sweaty like a tiller, poor thing... I will come back to you and I’ll remember The life we lived and songs I used to sing. My age is young - I’ve crossed my forties slightly, I’m saved by you and God twelve years long. God calls me up. I’ll sing to the Almighty. He will acquit me having heard my song.
© George Tokarev. Translation, 2001
Edited by Robert Titterton