The way broke the steppe in half,
And it is obscure where the end of the way is, -
On the way we go on different sides
And cannot cross them.

How many winters will this way
shed light?
Somebody should risk -
decide...
We have to talk with each other - the crossroad is not far off,
Cross it, in case it never occured to me!

The way, the way across the earth -
Across fate with a deep track, -
Many have found themselves a fellow-traveller
Not for long - but not a life companion.

Flash through one’s mind like
a smirking calamity,
Divorced forever -
forked...
Where are the necessary words, who finds them first?
Again I mist the crossing.

The river! - was dispatched to us both like a deliverance,
One has only to stretch out the hands...
But again, again we stand on different flight decks, -
Suggest to us anything!

The wind of the Volga, intoxicating
and viscous,
Whispers into the souls,
only prompting:
There is not much time - hurry and don’t wait on the end of the way, -
But who will first risk to get across.