The words are scripted in the skies –
And blinded are the beauty eyes …
And fear of death-bed disappears,
And sweetness of the love-bed dies.
Some sweat, some slave in self-negation!
We've got the next infatuation:
Unearthly kindling o’er the curls –
A breath of inspiration!
1918, Marina Tsvetaeva
2007, Trans. by V.Postnikov
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem