by Osip Mandelstam
Your unsteady and so painful image
I couldn't touch in a continous mist.
'God! ' - I said, mistaken unexpectedly,
Without aim to say a word indeed.
The god's name flied out as a great bird
Of my breast to live long outside.
And in front of me - mist, curling,
The empty cage - remains behind.
- -
In russian and translation into bulgarian
by Krasimir Georgiev
http: //www.stihi.ru/2013/01/16/30
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem