The languor nests inside my bones just like a snake, My aching heart and sober head have come to terms. High speed excitement fails to keep me wide-awake, And blood no longer curdles on sharp turns. I donít remain on tenterhooks from love and hope, The strain in shattered nerves is gone, theyíre yours to rip. My nerves are sagging badly like a laundry rope; And I donít worry who will win - myself or him. Iím on the horse: any force - Iíll go down. Only "donít", only "wonít" are around. I donít drink water that is numbing from a spring, Today I wonít be rushing neither things nor men. My bow is sitting idly with a rotten string, The arrows all are cracked, I heat my stove with them. Iím not advancing, Iím not dashing anymore, Iím not encouraged by the fact of the attack. I donít accept the risk, itís something I deplore; Those tearaways who rush headfirst I would not back. Iím on the horse: any force - Iíll go down. Only "donít", only "wonít" are around. I do not want to cheat, to reason, to deduce. I lack intentions to unknot or tie a knot. There is no need to cut the corners thatíre obtuse, For after the acute ones, those fell short. No wistful tenderness can stir my soul again, And I canít be compelled or pressed to change my views. All sorts of things became too alien to the brain, So Iím not pinched by premonitions or tight shoes. Iím on the horse: any force - Iíll go down. Only "donít", only "wonít" are around. My wounds stopped aching lately and my scars donít hurt, There is a sterile dressing covering them well. And I donít have a single question, dream or thought That itches me today, annoys or rings a bell. A full height monument? The sculptor will decide. No noose, no bullet in the head will be my cause. Iím now transparent as a window open wide And unimposing as a simple linen cloth. And of course - any force - Iíll go down. Only "donít", only "wonít" are around. I do not seek the cure-all or the root of life, To me itís pointless, since the ginseng does its bit. I do not tremble, and I do not strain or strive; There is no target that I try to hit. Iím tired of fighting with the earthís attractive force: Iím lying to increase the distance to the noose. My heartís not there, but itís still twitching back and forth, Itís time to go - thereís only "donít" and "wonít" to choose. Iím on the horse: any force - Iíll go down. Only "donít", only "wonít" are around.
© Kirill Tolmachev. Translation, 2022