Ñòèõè íà êîìïîçèöèþ… (N. Hefti, 1965)
When twilight lays its hands upon the tired gloomy houses,
They put on fanciest of stockings, aprons, heels and blouses.
When stars all shine, they ache to reach what bustle stole in daytime…
Their chat goes on, as sweet and heavy as tastes cherry-red wine.
They cheer and cry,
They laugh and sigh,
Their secret glows,
These talks of girls’…
Once men are gone to bed or drown in news and business meetings,
Their fairy dialogues are gladly sewed and keenly knitted.
They serve a table full of dreams, and smiles, and secret sorrows…
That’s how the night for them becomes a shining new “tomorrow”.
No solemn plans:
They sing and dance,
No fears, no goals…
These talks of girls’…
…
And maybe every morning splits them up (alas, it happens!),
They always keep these talks in mind, like senior year lessons.
These girls will wait till dark, and smile, and speak to hear each other,
Until there’s no night left for their dreams to lurk and cover.
They joke and weep,
They hide and seek,
When darkness falls…
These talks of girls’ —
The game of thriving souls.
12.10.2021