So many naive dreams, so many naive wishes, -
We cannot live without it in such abhorrent times.
So queer and marvelous, sometimes even malicious,
But what are we supposed to do?
That's our lifelong paths.
We are unable to be smiths of our visions,
We are inept at operating of our mind.
And while we're sleeping
We can't make any decisions,
We bit by bit become absorbed by lurid night.
So who's the host of all these images and strange things?
They say it's memory, -
And that's doubtlessly right.
I wish we could be able to find sense links
In our tireless and convoluted minds.
We can't no longer see the meaning in prodigious.
That's why our lives are getting pointless and dead.
This World is so immense
As well as sacrilegious,
But there're so many wonders when you're napping in a bed.
(Перевод http://www.stihi.ru/2013/01/24/8376)