Lyudmila Purgina (Russian Federation)
S.Yesenin, Hands of lovely, as... - translation (rus.)
Hands of lovely, as the pair of swans,
Merge into my golden hair.
All in that world, people so,
Sing their songs and reiterate.
I was singing also at distance,
Now I sing the same again,
And because of that is tender
Any a world, I'm going to say.
If you love, re-love the soul to bottom,
Heart'll become for sure a golden hill,
Only the moon of Tegeran's cold
Can't give to your song slightly a heat.
I don't know, how I could live:
Whether I should burn, caressing Shagie,
Or I in close to old age - to grieve
All about the former singing shudder?
All have their special manner of walk:
Some thing's best for ear, some - for eye,
If the persian boy sings bad, then is obvious,
That he is born in Shiraz site.
Let about me say simply that words
In accordance to my clear songs:
He could sing more tender and more nice songs,
But two swans had perished him to whole.
Comments about this poem (S.Yesenin, Hands of lovely, as... - translation (rus.) by Lyudmila Purgina )
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