I probably am dead, I close my eyes but see her I am completely shy, I probably am dead She always in the top, as just has seen great Paris And yesterday I learnt - not only place like that. What songs I sang for her about polar islands, Was cherishing the hope to find another way. But all my songs in vain about gorgeous highlands She did not wish to know the magic of to-day. Just hoping to be close I sang for her again About universe, her numerous boyfriends But she was not enjoyed as she had been to Paris Marsel Marso himself once kissed her honey hands. I left my famous plant though frankly was not fair To study how to speak in proper dialect What difference does it make? She is in Warsaw - T-H-E-R-E My speech with her again like parrotís - incorrect. If she sees me Iíll say in Polish "Proshe Pani" Accept me as I am, will never sing that date What difference will it make? She in Teheran already. At last I understood - I always will be late. As she like wind - elsewhere: - Tomorrow be in Oslo! I am in deadly trap! I am on troubled way! I simply realized-let others try to catch her In hopeless game of love on chess-board of to-day.
© Alexander Spiridonov. Translation, 2022