M.Lermontov, Desire - translation (rus.)
by Michael Yuryevich Lermontov
Why ain't I а bird, not а raven in steppe,
Who's flown over my head?
Why can't I soar there in sky, highly so,
And love only freedom and scope?
To west, only west, I'd like rush in desire
To see fields, with a blossom entirely,
There the ancestor's castles in mountain hazes,
Still keep their old rest's ashes.
On the ancient wall the old ancestor's shields
And swords so rusty hang still.
I could fly above those swords, those shields
And clean their dust by my wings.
When I slightly touch there the old scott's harp
The sound flies highly above,
And quieten after, when I interrupt
To twitch those strings in the dark.
But prays are in vain, and so - the dreams,
The fate's rules are rigid to be.
And there are the waves of the alien seas
Between motherland and my feels.
The last of descendants of the prominent fighters
Are fading there far in the snowpiles.
Was born in this place, being alien to it...
Oh! Why can't I the steppe raven be?
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