We are setting out for good To warm lands. Years on end we’ll be en route Off the strands. You may put the wheels of fate In the way, But the storms we shall evade Anyway. Climb the mast and do it fast, my friend, Land for us is now vital: Maybe, you will see a continent, Or an island, for that matter. Someone wished so much to weigh Pros and cons, So he is now on his way To repose. All the others, stony broke, Do their best, They would rather go to work, Than to rest. You have turned, your fortune to a nun Laugh at her, and be silent, Some have continents and some have none, Some have their own island. They have boded me no good, Cards at hand, They foretold me that I would Find my land. But the sorcerer was wrong, Cards tell lies, I would like to search and long For new isles. There’s the shore in view in full extent Take your time and look round. What is that? Is that the continent? Or is it just my Island?
© Alec Vagapov. Translation, 1999