Just as well, I couldnít hear the sound, behind the roar, That I was with my shame one on one: Iíve hesitated by the open trapdoor - And left the parachute spring hook undone. Instructor helped me - he pushed me with his knee - To cross that edge of weakness Iíve refused: For our usual " Be bolder, sonny!" I took his sleepy abuse. And was cut short my scream, And my cheeks were burned With cold sharp blade The ascending streams. And sound back into my liver Drove in again when I breathe in Joyful, carefree Air streams. Iíve dropped into their skillful, tenacious hands: Squeezing, tossing me - they do, what they want! And Iím readily those crazy tricks implement Jokingly doing them all - on and on. Is there a reason in this kind of fall, who can say, Iíll find out after, but for now - Either earth horizon came down on my face, Or shied down on me those clouds. And they were cutting short my scream, And shaving my cheeks With cold sharp blade The ascending streams. And drove in blood into my liver, Cruel and taut like a spring, Invisible oncoming Air streams. But Iíve ripped the ring with one inspiration of my soul, Like the collar of the shirt or the grenade pin. It happened in a random free fall - In eighteen brief seconds. ...And now - Iím not attractive, humpback on both sides, Lifesaving silk - in each hump. Iím focused on target and in love, and in love With that not so random free jump! And cutting short my scream, And shaving my cheeks With cold sharp blade The ascending streams. And getting into my liver When breathing out or in Soulless and eternal Air streams.                                 Unparalleled jump from the depth of stratosphere On the "Go!" call I took a step into the void, - To follow the shadow of faceless chimera, To follow a free fall - letís go! I will brake through an airy cotton wool darkness, Though the conditions of the fall is not the same. But you canít free fall - because, That we are not falling into the emptiness. And cutting short my scream, And shaving my cheeks With cold sharp blade The ascending streams. On me backpacks, Hands to the sides - Iím meeting - Straight, flawless Air streams. The wind into the ears trickling and scathingly will say: "The lightness will come soon-donít pull the ring..." Three hundred meters to the earth - now it will be too late! The wind is lying, for sure lying! Pop of the parachute dome-stop, the straps are pulling me up! And - as if this minutes are never existed. There are no free falls from the heights, but - There is freedom to open the parachute! My cheeks are getting cooled And eyelids getting open - The streams are finished Caring for a man! With sadness up Iím starring The stars are lonely there - And Iím drinking horizontal Air streams
© Anatoli Trojanowski. Translation, 2017