Quite the same it stays as it were in the past: If you went against - to the mast, to the mast; If you had been caught - brought to court, just to court; If you knew a lot - should be shot, should be shot! I had thought: free of camps I’d be not feeling down For some span, for some span, But got into this dusty indefinite town Out of man, out of man; Crowds roam around the place keeping paces, Apathetic and bent; I glance over bystanders’ indifferent faces - Not a foe, nor a friend. Quite the same it stays, still it lasts, still it lasts: If you went against - to the mast, to the mast; If you had been caught - brought to court, just to court; If you knew a lot - should be shot, should be shot! Still what for in the camps did I mean condemnations Of my fate, of my fate? Then what for did I wait for releasing sensations At the gate, at the gate? Crowds roam up and down the streets keeping paces, Apathetic and bent; I glance over bystanders’ indifferent faces - Not a foe, nor a friend.
© Vyacheslav Chistyakov. Translation, 2017