I will give myself to the movement of the soul, its false, burning nonsense,
Seems to me like we're back in the garden with you...
Fall asleep in the train, your stop will pass,
On the black platform in the dark of night.
How late! how cold! how impenetrable, o God!
Sinister the platform, like in the old movies about the war.
Me will say, that here kilometers twelve, not more.
I'll think. "We need to go." I'll step.
Warm himself. The muscles will ride warm waves,
And become easy, after easy.
And so I'll be happy to walk unwitting,
Like I've always missed her.
I will give myself to the movement of the legs, their safe, firm step,
Frost and wind, night silent country,
And again, feel the clarity, peace and courage,
Which are hidden somewhere at the bottom in everyone.
With the movement to merge. I will coincide with the boundless silence.
The confusion of a fussy, stupid day will disappear.
And the thread of my thoughts will be equally random,
What a walk. And equally dear to me.
The painful reality will entwine with the high tall tale,
And their unravelling will be no it could not stand.
And the starry sky at the top will ring like a net,
Hanging someone out to dry in the frosty night.
