‘Twas snowing. And to the snow,
To cold of the heaven and earth,
The deeper I slept the more grown
Was Chegem tulips' warming blaze.
Of hills and woods this world consists,
Of skies that cover all;
It's just a broil of voices midst
A little boy and girl.
Rain flogs my face and collar-bones,
a thunderstorm roars over musts.
You thrust upon my flesh and soul,
like tempests upon ships do thrust.
No word about love! But I'm mute it about -
My larynx, long ago, had lost its nightingales.
There're just the fire flames with empty skies around,
No word about love - e'en if the moonlight reigns.
And I shall tell you at the end:
farewell, don't pledge self to love, helpless.
I go mad, or just ascend
to the high echelon of madness.