in the darkness torn by light
are the eyes ever begging
do they roam nude over slippery objects
bumping into faces, corners, holy images
dropping into flickering, which is not identified at once...
you would think too late: tracer and dotted light line
of flaks over the fields of Kosovo
thank God not directly over your head

And ears ring... And in the spills of a distant siren
as if the heavenly racket began to sing
he grabs you he throws you head-first at walls -
just stars from your eyes. But even the stars are not the limit

Translated from Russian by Tatiana Bonch-Osmolovskaya