Thereís ice above me and thereís ice below, Ought I to dive or pop up like a cork? To love and hope never saying ďnoĒ, Awaiting visas, I must work and work. This ice will crack and out I will clamber, All sweaty like a tiller, poor thing... I will come back to you and Iíll remember The life we lived and songs I used to sing. My age is young - Iíve crossed my forties slightly, Iím saved by you and God twelve years long. God calls me up. Iíll sing to the Almighty. He will acquit me having heard my song.
© George Tokarev. Translation, 2001
Edited by Robert Titterton