The storm is raging all the night, Iím listening to the while surf rumble, And, while the beach is patched with white Unkempt foam. I watch from a height Great combers break their necks and crumble. Iím sorry for the dead, at heart. But take good care to keep apart. A rattle of death, a groan, a roar - I hear mad fury in them all. No wonder: they rushed for the shore. They gathered strength, they crossed the bar - And broke their necks so near their goal. Iím sorry for the dead, at heart, But take good care to keep apart.
             
The wind again will rip and tear The manes of foam in senseless fury. This fence the waves will never clear - A foot will slip, the horse will rear And crash full length, in white foam buried. And some will mourn for him, at heart. But take good care to keep apart. My turn will come one day, I know. Iím being pushed towards the border, Forebodings rip apart my soul - Iíll break my neck, shanít reach my goal; Thereís some that will not stop at murder. And some will mourn for me, at heart, But lake good care to keep apart. So many folks for ages stay Put on the beach - and just grow older Intently studying the way The others in the white surf play And break their backs and necks on boulders. Theyíre sorry for the dead, at heart, But take good care to keep apart.
               
© Sergei Roy. Translation, 1990