On a steep cliff, alongside a gorge, just on the edge of tripping, With a knout upon my horsesí backs, Iím hastening and whipping... I somehow feel sort of choking - wind and mist Iím gulping, sipping, Sensing virulent enjoyment - it is over, I am slipping! Just a little slower, horses, a bit easier be! Donít you follow the whipís woven sting! Except my horses are so stubborn, they wonít listen to me - Iíve no time left to live, and no time left to sing. I will feed them from hand, I will sing to the end - For one short instant more, on the edge I will stand... Iíll be gone - swept like a feather from the hurricaneís small finger, In a sleigh, one early morning, on the snow they'll move me lightly, Do not run so fleetly, horses, change to steady walk and linger, Make the way to final shelter a bit longer, if but slightly! Just a little slower, horses, a bit easier be! You donít have to obey the whipping sting. Except my horses are so stubborn, they wonít listen to me - No more time left to live, and no time left to sing. I will feed them from hand, I will sing to the end - For one short instant more, on the edge I will stand... Weíre on time - when God invites us, thereís no way to show belated - So why are angels singing there with those bad voices full of hatred?! Or is it the frantic sobbing of the sleigh bell agitated, Or my yelling at the horse for being way too animated?! Just a little slower, horses, a bit easier be! Please donít gallop as if youíre on wing! Except my horses are so stubborn, they wonít listen to me... Iíd no time left to live, so at least let me sing! I will feed them from hand, I will sing to the end - For one short instant more, on the edge I will stand...
© Eugenie Sarkisyants. Translation, 2011