Wonder what I’ll see today, how I will breathe today.
Soon there’ll be a thunderstorm - the air is tingling.
Wonder what I’ll sing today, what songs I’ll hear, pray?
Seems like birds from fairytales are sweetly singing.

Sirin’s flapping its wings, laughing joyously,
Calling gaily to me from the nest;
And the sad bird is crying most grievously -
My heart’s riven by weird Alkonost.

Seven magical strings rang
Wondrously, melodiously -
That is holy Hamayun
Giving hope to me.

Over countless domes of churches blue skies hover.
Copper bells are pealing, over, over and over...
Hard to say if it’s in anger or in joy.
Here in Russia, domes with purest gold are covered -
That they oftener may catch the Lord’s eye.

Here I stand before a hoary ancient mystery,
Here I stand before a fairytale vast land -
Salty, bitter, sour, sweet and slightly gingery -
Land of blue skies, rye and clear springs, here I stand.

Horses sink in the mud to the stirrups,
In the rusty mud, glossy and deep,
But they drag me across this unstirring
Drowsy land, limp and swollen with sleep.

It’s as if seven rich moons
Lit my pathway suddenly:
That is holy Hamayun
Giving hope to me!

Now, my soul’s been worn by losses and by loneliness,
Torn by eddies, rapids, and by my unrest;
Now that my blood oozes slowly, and goes dry
I will patch it up with golden brocade - with the best -
That it oftener might catch the Lord’s eye!