To London station I have come,
and cried for a long time,
oh Russia, you my native land,
how low is your decline...
I looked around and recognized
buildings, roads, faces, people,
Can it be true in the past life
and happiness is real...
Here stones and moss, gardens and parks
to me so clearly talk,
the space by kins here buzzes, hums..
Russia, at last you go..
Passed like a dream so bad and hard,
as harbinger of hell,
and as a slave, I kiss my shackles
and throw myself away!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem has unfathomable childlike innocence and simplicity. This poem is like a fairytale come alive. The words nostalgic. Tears and pain yet, freedom and happiness in the end.