Elena Zaslavskaya. Translation by Max Shapiro, Natalya Cheker.


Fly, please fly, across the lines of fire,
Let no borders stop you flying free
To the very land my dreams desire,
Where I again can never be.

There is the parents’ house next to church,
Wild garden our fence could never hold,
Old and mossy graveyard cross, the birch,
And a little happiness whose age,
Yet again, is sixteen years old.

I remember. As It, often times,
Comes to my dreams and overshines
That distant spring, worth more than gold,
Which is always sixteen years old.

Fly my angel, deep your wings in blue,
Take along my burdened heart with you
To the home fields, the kinfolks’ graves,
To my youth’s untroubled joyful days.
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