I don't insult anybody so quietly
In space of seabuckthorns, lilac and colorful.
And if I go to the shore of Baltic -
It doesnt matter - Riga or Infarctic.
The latter always is more close to Piter.
Although the heart despite the rupture is still beating,
It's truly all the same where you are odd -
the seawave everywhere will pour you over.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem