B.Akhmadulina, Tzarevna-Nesmeyana - Translation (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

So I'm sitting - the Tzarevna-nesmeyana,
And eating the apples, quite bitter, though.
- Tzarevna! Open the door, we are many...! -
The passers-by are shouting outdoors.

They look at me with blue eyes, and in crowd
To my room in my tower are coming.
They say: 'Hello! ', with a low bowing,
And say 'Tzarevich' - with each other vying.

They stand and boast with their richnness,
They pass by, ringing the silver-gold.
But no one causes a smile, even
With their wealth, or their boasting.

Oh, how the tzareviches are tensed with
The efforts to say word, which will be right!
But do they know, how I'm considered?
The fool of fools, the wisest of the wise!

They cry: 'What's the inner oath
That you had sworn, being with us so stern?
I say: 'Tzareviches, sit down.
Please, stand awhile nearby the doors.

'Why have you put the new caftans now?
Why have you put on the new caps on head? ...
The last week, or the last week smiling,
I was so smiling, you can't fancy that.

He entered palace, low for him rather,
He is a tatar, in the Russia living,
And I cried him: ' Oh, welcome, lovely!
Please, drink a wine and take a bread for eating! '

'But who was he? A rich man? Or a poor man?
What country does he live? ' I had a smile then.
'Of no difference his status, whether
He is a rich, a poor, pale or red,
I can't recall him in this way.

And no one could even change him,
His nature of a traitor and playboy.
No one could measure his fault, guilt his.
Nothing had happened, damn and hell to all.