A lizard-lassitude crawls over my breast, The sober head is not at daggers with the heart, Full speeding now does not take away my breath, The blood at steep turns wonít be turning cold and hard. And no lumps from love Iím having in the throat, The nerves are ropes-like left after a washed lot, The nerves are no more tensed - can torn be up with ease: And I donít bother if my rival ever wins. I ride high - if am pushed - shall be earthed, Everything has been swooshed - out of worth. I do not drink the ice-cold water numbing teeth, And hasten neither people nor whatever events, And my idle bow is a rotten stringing with, All arrows are burnt to keep off accidents. And no stresses, no passions would arise, I scold madcaps - and now donít accept the guys, To mention not of all those foolhardy chaps. Am not inspired with the very fact of raps. I ride high - if am pushed - shall be earthed, Everything has been swooshed - out of worth. Thereís no wish to make a change, unravel tangles, To tighten or to loosen knots is not a must. Thereís no need to double off any obtuse angles - They are not angles at all if acute ones were passed. Thereís no tenderness that can delight the soul, To be persuaded cannot be achievable goal. And since the brainís completely free of any ďshouldĒ I donít feel pressure by the mind or by a boot. I ride high - if am pushed - shall be earthed, Everything has been swooshed - out of worth. The scars donít bother me, the wounds - they do not ache, - There are the bandages on them, sterile and tight! No thoughts, no questions I am taken by aback, - They donít disturb me anymore, and donít excite. The belt is loose or tight - to me itís just the same! I donít deserve a bullet - not a proper aim, I am transparent as a sheet of safety glass, And am unnoticeable like a linen made of flax. I ride high - if am pushed - shall be earthed, Everything has been swooshed - out of worth. I do not look for the philosophersí wise stone, Donít search for root of life - ginseng replaces it, I donít have dreams, have no wishes of my own, And I donít hope that the target can be hit. Iím tired of the Earthís attraction and the boost, - Just lie to keep the greater distance from the noose. The heart itself seems not inside me anymore, - Itís time to be whereís only ďneitherĒ and just ďnorĒ. I ride high - if am pushed - shall be earthed, Everything has been swooshed - out of worth.
© Vyacheslav Chistyakov. Translation, 2013