Thirty-five years. Life went beyond the second pass.
I loved, I thought, I fought.
I visited some places, I saw something,
Sometimes I was happy.


The anger passed me, the arrow passed by,
And from the bullet---several small traces.
And trouble flew away like a drop from a wing;
Like water, misfortune parted.


I took one pass, I’ll overcome the second,
Though my shoulder-bag is heavy.
What is there, beyond the mountain? What is there, under the mountain?
My temple turned white from the heights.


First, life captivates us:
Everything is warm in it, the whole heart warms,
And, like a tempting story,
Our bizarre mind cherishes.


Something frightens from afar,
But pleasure is in this fear:
He amuses the imagination,
How about a magical adventure!


The broken heart in the chest barely beats
The soul as if the body left in an instant.
A burst of hellish torment in its depths curls.
And a painful cry breaks out.


I myself am a captive killing myself
Crippling in consciousness the remnants of love.
And how to live with it... I don’t even understand
When nightingales do not sing in their hearts?


When the meaning of life becomes meaningless.
And a feeling of despair beats on the inside.
The past is suddenly a lost hobby!
I’ll just erase it from my memory.


The night story of an old man.
But the playful deception will end!
We get used to miracles.
Then we look at everything lazily,
Then...and life sent to us:
Its riddle and dénouement is
already long, old, boring,
Like a retold fairy tale to the
Tired soul before the hour of sleep.


Thirty-five years. Somewhere will be the last halt...
Where will my track break off?
Thirty-five years. Life went beyond the second pass.
And this cup is not finished.