Перевод: Борис Пастернак
"Не плачь, не морщь опухших губ"
Версия от 2021
Don’t cry, don’t wince your swollen lips,
Don’t fold them in your shiver,
You’d bother old adherent scab
Of weathered spring fever.
Now, take your hand off of my chest:
We are high voltage wires.
We’re risking to be swiftly cast
Into each other’s' fires.
You will get married, as years pass,
You will forget your sadness.
Being a woman is one great task;
Heroic — to cause madness.
My fate is to, throughout time,
Revere with servant’s fondness
The woman’s miracle of arms,
And neck, and back, and shoulders.
How ever night could chain me
In its saddest temptation,
The stronger urge will push to leave,
The urge for separation.
Revised version 15 Jan 2021, Alina K.