by Osip Mandelstam
The body's given to me, what to do with it,
My own body, all myself and unique.
For the quite joy to breathe and live,
Whom I should thank for that, indeed?
A garderner I am, a flower also,
In that captivity I'm not alone.
My breathing and my warmth today
Lay on eternity's glass plain.
And there'll be a pattern stamped,
Unrecognizable in shape.
But let the dregs of moment fall down -
The pattern never could be cancelled out.
- -
In russian and translation into bulgarian
by Krasimir Georgiev
http: //www.stihi.ru/2013/01/14/8051
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem