Proper and sincere, the bride will sob me out, Surely, the fellows will return my debts. All the songs - by others will be sang, no doubt, Probably the foes will drink to my health. Any book of interest I am left without, My guitar a string needs, it's no more a boon, I canít go higher, lower - am not allowed, The sun Iím not allowed, not allowed the moon. Cannot go out, for I am sought-and-hidden, Hereís the only walking - from the door to the wall, - The left turnís not allowed; the right one is forbidden, A piece of skyís allowed, dreams - and that is all. The dreams about freedom, being friendly treated, The guitarís returning by my kin and kith, Whom will I be met by, how will I be greeted, And what kind of singing will I be welcomed with?
© Vyacheslav Chistyakov. Translation, 2010