What can I breathe today and what can see?
The air’s close before the storm, close and viscid.
What can I sing today and what can hear?
Prophetic birds sing, but truth is hispid.

Joyful Sirin bird is grinning,
It amuses and beckons from nests.
On the opposite site bird is grieving,
Makes feel sore at heart, Alkonost.

Like seven cherished strings to attune
In the air elope,
It is prophetic bird Gamayun
Gives us new hope!

In the blue sky with belfries pricked
There is a cooper bell, cooper bell -
Weather rejoices it or is angry indeed...
The cupolas in Russia in gold are bricked -
Thus, God pays more heed.

I’m in front of eternal riddle,
In the country fabulous and great -
It is salty, bitter sweet and sour - middle,
Rye and spring and even blue like wave.

Munching slush, rusty and lousy,
Sink the horses deep in this mud,
Still entail with this country drowsy,
Which because of the sleep has lost heart.

Like seven great moons
Are in the night’s cope -
As well bird Gamayun
Gives me the hope!

My soul crippled by bereavements and loss,
Soul which is almost erased by shallows, -
If it started already to bleed, -
With gold patches fill I these holes -
In order God pays more heed.