I was forever resurrected with
the drunken spring, forgetting my fear,
and on the day ahead, endured as if by the bird's flight,
I buried hell and the dark in myself...


She came, gentle and so clean,
whispered to me in the evening,
on a pale moon, that she gave me everything I still miss,
and my presence would be there until I die...


Then I forgot myself even,
and barefooted, danced among the golden drops of wine,
so who would try my flesh to crush
when the soul was a drop of rain?!


And in the summer,
a thousand suns grabbed me,
and with a flower crown of June rays,
I distracted the mists---uninvited guests and purples,
sending to the scorching days...


In my palms, into fires, turned,
and all the woes---
at sunset dust,
I suddenly felt, in a dog's sleep,
that my only and perceptible sin was not in the heart,
and there was no sense,
because I could not stop fate and I cried then,
"Life was written by someone else, but I will build it!"


She shook furiously,
and wildly on the ground and somewhere down,
amid dark bowels, amid fire and butterflies,
in a bewitching glance, with a trail of
dead and rosy leaves, she, my autumn---
rainy and young, lit up in red silvery twilight,
and seemed to take from the lines---
the traces of that purified weeping...


And I was warmed up by the sun,
veiled in sweat-drops, stretched out
longing and baited hands,
in life, I stepped on to near glory,
and never became a child again...


I woke up as if for a fresh start,
and iced, cunning and evil,
of winter---daring,
and spirit and body...finally ready to be a man!


But I'm still resurrecting with
the drunken spring and summer.
I wait---to be good, for
autumn love others beg me,
and with the pulse of winter,
arrive many happy creations!