She was so beautiful, so stately and so grand, And cleaner than the freshly fallen snow... Alas! Today her letter burns my hand, From it a bitter truth Iíve come to know! If she was true - I didnít ever ask her, I see her love was just the mask she wore... This time Iím facing a complete fiasco, Iíll never let it happen any more! ďMy days are numbered!Ē - to myself I said, Her infidelity is torturous and ripping; I squeezed the letter as a viperís head - And from that page black venom started dripping! I run from pain, distress and devastation, The wind will wipe my tears if I weep; My horse is flying faster than frustration, My hasty tracks the blizzard wonít sweep! The pallid sky above me sadly shrinks, I rid myself of tokens of woe - Of dazing daisies, whithered naked pinks, And tears, mingled with the melting snow! Donít cry - for your misfortunes no one cares, I wonít take anything, yet nothing will I give! I rush on forward, seeking new affairs, In which Iíll win, or else why should I live?
© George Tokarev. Translation, 2004
Edited by Robert Titterton