Along the cliff, above the abyss, on the very edge I whip my horses - I rush them Somehow I donít have enough air - I drink the wind, swallow the fog, I feel with a disastrous enthusiasm: I am dying! I am dying! A little slower, horses, a little slower! Donít listen to the tight lash! But the horses I have are fastidious And I didnít have time to live, I wonít have time to finish my song. I will give my horses to drink, I will finish singing my verse - At least for a little more Iíll stand on the edge I will rot, like fluff a hurricane will sweep me off a palm, And they will drag me, galloping, in a sleigh through the snow in the morning. Switch to an unhurried trot, my horses! At least by a little, but prolong the way to the last shelter! A little slower, horses, a little slower! Donít take orders from the whip and lash! But the horses I have are fastidious, - And I didnít have time to live, I wonít have time to finish my song. I will give my horses to drink, I will finish singing my verse - At least for a little more Iíll stand on the edge We made it on time - nobody is a latecomer when visiting God; But why do the angels sings with such evil voices? Or did the bell wither away from sobs? Or do I yell at the horses, to not carry the sleigh so fast? A little slower, horses, a little slower! I beg you not to rush so! But the horses I have are fastidious... Since I didnít have time to live, at least I could finish my song! I will give my horses to drink, I will finish singing my verse - At least for a little more Iíll stand on the edge!
© Darya Shyroka. Translation, 2014