Old man, do you recall her love for you those days?

And how you looked at her, dispassion in your gaze.

Back then when your young blood was boiling in your veins,

Your lips were cold as ice when they would touch her face.

You thought the youth would last into infinitude

You frolicked with the tramps and stayed away from prudes.

Once on a fine Spring day you turned and walked away

From one and only love who wanted you to stay.

She spoke to moon and stars on sleepless, lonely nights,

While she was loving you, she was dying slowly.

Old man, remember passion in your eyes?

Before the old age doused the fire inside.

Those days are gone, extinguished is the fire,

Decrepitude succeeded the desire.

Far off from you, she relished their glare,

Consumed by anguish, ravished by despair.

Her own eyes’ sorrowful abyss

Away from her you hardly ever missed.

Old man, do you recall how time and time again

You uttered words of love without slightest strain?

You sang the songs of love to those who never cared,

Not to the one who thought of you as dream that never came through.

The one who’s heart for you kept on for years yearning,

And on who’s skin your touch continued burning.

Depraved of your embrace you generously granted

To scores of groupies by your charm enchanted,

Her loving heart was weeping day and night.

But you were deaf to heart’s incessant wailing,

Consumed by your pursuit of butterflies’ free flight.

Old man, how would you like to learn about being

Without the one for whom your heart is dreaming?

The Sun destroys the grass and dries the streams,

Only the heart wouldn’t let the Sun close by,

It misses you, so distant and so dear.

You - happy, careless, who stole its joy of life.

Depraved of love and, thus, depraved of light,

The heart is wailing on a lonely night,

For one who found bliss in others’ sweet embrace,

The one locked the heart in gloomy maze.

Old man, life’s Summer season doesn’t last:

Before you know it, happiness is past.

Eyes’ sparkle’s gone and blood is running slow,

The heart is crushed by fortune’s mighty blow.

The pain of love rejected never leaves it,

It weeps because no one has ever loved it,

Another heart was chosen instead.

By Liana Margiva

Translated from Russian by Anatol Kardiukov