In the sleep - yellow lights, And in sleep Iím ranting: In the time, in the time, Morning is the better. But in morning not as it should, Thereís no such a merriment: Either you smoke with no food, Or drink from the hangover.         In taverns - the damask green And the white napkins. Heaven is for beggars and buffoons Iím like a caged bird! In the church twilight and stench, Deacon smoking incense. No! Itís not right in the church, Not like it should be. Iím - in hurry on the mountain, That would come out nothing. And on the mountain alder stands, And under mountain cherry. And if to twine with ivy hill, This to me comfort, Although something else still. Allís not as it should be!         Iím along river, in the field. Light - dark, thereís no God! And the cornflowers in clean field, The distant road. Along the road - the dense wood, With Baba-Yagas, And in the end of that road - Scaffold with the axes. Somewhere the horses dance in tact, Reluctantly and smoothly. Along the road not as it must, And in end - all the more. And not church, and not the pub - Nothing is holy. No, fellows, all is not as must, Allís not as it should be.        
© Ilya Shambat. Translation, ?