She was so beautiful, so stately and so grand, And cleaner than the freshly fallen snow... Alas! Today her letter burns my hand, From it a bitter truth I’ve come to know! If she was true - I didn’t ever ask her, I see her love was just the mask she wore... This time I’m facing a complete fiasco, I’ll never let it happen any more! “My days are numbered!” - to myself I said, Her infidelity is torturous and ripping; I squeezed the letter as a viper’s head - And from that page black venom started dripping! I run from pain, distress and devastation, The wind will wipe my tears if I weep; My horse is flying faster than frustration, My hasty tracks the blizzard won’t sweep! The pallid sky above me sadly shrinks, I rid myself of tokens of woe - Of dazing daisies, whithered naked pinks, And tears, mingled with the melting snow! Don’t cry - for your misfortunes no one cares, I won’t take anything, yet nothing will I give! I rush on forward, seeking new affairs, In which I’ll win, or else why should I live?
© George Tokarev. Translation, 2004
Edited by Robert Titterton