I laugh and weep as near to false mirrors, - Suspect theyíve played on me an artful joke: The hooks of noses and the grins of heroes - As during the Venetian fancy-talk! The coil interlocks and Iím in it - They grasp me and involve in the saltation, - Well-well, I see my normal face indeed Was taken for the mask of stupid cation. Petards and ticker tapes - they cannot fit, - And masks are looking with an objurgation, - They roar that again Iíve missed the beat, That hitting partnerís foot is groovy action. What can I do? To vamoose, clenching fists? Or maybe to have fun with all these graces?.. I hope that under masks of balmy beasts A lot of them have humanistic faces. Here one and all in wigs can take you in, - Somebodyís bookish and anotherís fabby... My neighbour at the right is harlequin, Yet one is hangman and a third is gabby. One man was trying to whiten himself Another covers from publicity his face And someone even cannot now discern His own face from bound masking days. Iím stepping with a laugh on dancing-pan, - But still Iím qualmish side by the side with them: What if somebody likes the mask-hangman And doesnít like to take it down then? What, if a harlequin, admiring his grief face, Forever feels so sad while heart will bask? What if a dolt or fool in any case Does not remember to take off his mask? How not to miss a benignant, kind face, How can I guess all honest guys and brocks? - When everybody puts a mask in case, For not-to-hurt themselves by acute rocks. Well, though, Iíve sunk in masking mystery, - Iím sure that my prognosis is exact: That mask of coldness in recurrent history - Is a defence from slapping big impact.
Iím hunting after masks just everywhere, But no one will be asked to open-greet, - What if the masks are thrown off, and there - Are same half-faces that disguise and fit?                
© Daria Verzhbovsky. Translation, 2008