There sleeps beneath our plastic roof
A frail piece of Russian soil
Enough of who I am for me to know no other.
She sleeps and I turn from diversion
To better hear celestial silence and pray
That a spirit will be with us to lay a keel
Amidst the swirl of eddies
Beseting lives smarting from life's many currents.
And with this - strange grief
that so many do not care -
About the living of straight lines
Or even engagement with the struggle
That ever keeps my heart from scorn of saints.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem