Lydia Grigoryeva
To break the window glass
To break the window glass –
to jump into the dark,
for there is life and night –
trees spreading down under . . .
And to get smashed
in blood, indulge in pain,
but not in idleness or slumber.
There, in the waste, a paper bag will stick
to my face, wrapping sweat, absorbing tears,
oh, to lie calmly in the dark,
till aching disappears.
Or just to hang head down
from the branch,
composing a verse with no hurry,
what won’t fit in those lines, I could
share out piecemeal, like bread,
to all and sundry, –
But they won’t take it.
Oh, to plunge – to kill
The cause, the reason
For my silly tears . . .
All’s possible,
But for those endless squeals,
and shrieks of cars,
down there changing gears.
Translated by Ravil Bukharayev
Page(s) 70-71
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