No, you're not right, I don't adore me, yet.
What's positive in the free lancer, tiered?
But, looking into me, I'm, by the God's entire,
Was so sweetly, so nice upset.

When in my songs, in those small reflections,
My real image before me is set,
It seems to me that I am leaning at
The water mirror in the dawns' precessions.

And to draw nearer to me my holly heights,
I look in deeps where stars start to be bright.
And falling there, it's in the darkness dying -

The dirty look of my else earthly eyes,
But back from there, it's going, clarifying
Over my head - the flaming wreath of stars.

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, December, 2000