Why is everything wrong? It goes like every day: The same sky - blue again in complexion, The same wood, the same air, the water such stay... But he didnít return from the action. Still I canít comprehend who was right then in our Never-ending disputes to distraction. I felt need of him being at hand only now - When he didnít return from the action. He did not speak in place and broke times in a song, Any subject of talks he could turn, He disturbed me asleep, he got up with the dawn - While yesterday - didnít return. Has the emptiness come? Sínot the point complete: Two is closer than one to perfection... With a wind was blown out my fire that lit When he didnít return from the action. Itís just slipped like a captive from prison to fly That mistakenly calling I turn: "Friend, reserve a smoke for me!" - in reply - no reply... For he, yesterday, didnít return. Our dead men will never desert us in trouble, Our lost men are sentries of ours... Woods reflect heaven so as the water to double, - And the trees stand blue-looking in colours. Enough space for us in the dug-out we had, And the world round two of us turned... Now allís left to one, but it seems to me that - Itís my very self whoís not returned.
© Natalia Tverskova. Translation, 2000