Who are we? - We are mere hands of the clock.
We hurriedly go around its face.
Our fearful hearts are properly locked.
Our shortsighted eyes are closed or glazed.
In dim recollections of the years which passed
We blindly dissolve discontent with the world.
The sight of the circle, - so endless and vast, -
Excites us and urges to make one more whirl.
We would not resist the temptation to keep
To this beaten track, - though it has no end…
Nor would we attempt to awake from the sleep
And crush the routine upon which we depend.
But we are quite happy!... Except for the pain,
That comes when our hopes turn smashed by the Fate.
Then stop we the circling. Rush out insane
To pray in the church for salvation and aid.
Who are we? - We are mere prisoners of Time.
The Turnkey is ruthless: it caught us and cursed.
In hearts we are thirsty for something divine…
By nature we all have been doomed to remorse.
In the hope of faking out the Fate
For to squeeze past the guard we put on a fancy dress…
But it vain: down it falls! And we see, though it’s too late,
That in this vicious world we will never be blessed.
And we see that there is too much sorrow for words, -
Something Evil’s command of the course of this chaise.
So, on keep we circling unaccustomed to turns…
We are hands of the clock, going round its face.
* * *
Интерпретация темы на русском языке http://www.stihi.ru/2007/08/07-1429