At last my trembling hands are calm: My turn to lead! And all my climbing fears are gone, Indeed, indeed. I will not pause before the crux, Itís my ascent. And there are neither grades nor routes That canít be sent! Among the peaks that none have scaled This one - for me. Among the routes that were unveiled This one - by me! The names of fallen with respect This snow will hide. Among the lines of first ascents Just one - but mine! With cold blue glowing of its ice The slope is lit. A secret of your steps precise These slabs will keep. And I can glance into my dream Above all heads. And I believe that snow is clean Like words of friends! And let the future heal all wounds: I canít forget How all my worries on the route I had restrained. How water whispered with intent: "Good luck... to you!" What month, what month was it back then? Oh, yes, Ďtwas June!
© Kirill Tolmachev. Translation, 2019