M.Akhmedov, A Call - Translation (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

A call

I frequently wake up in night time,
All being in sweat in night cold,
And painfully come 'cross the moon light,
The edges of rays strike with force.

Perhaps, I'm really needful
For somebody in that cold night,
Who can't in that hard time to get through
The deep melancholy, is right?

To wife or to comrade, to my son...
Or may be to that sudden woman,
Who's seeming to be quite strong, though,
When she meets with me on the road.

Or may be I'm needful to all the world,
Which's tired of vanity wheel,
And to that etherial light call
From a distant star, cheerly twinkling.

But a sad sigh of pity goes out,
It can't find the answer for call...
And there the shadows're flying
As moths to the light there to burn...


Under translation into russian from avarian
by Marina Akhmedova-Kolyubakina