From: ibshambat@gmail.com   
      
   Insanity - and good reason,   
   Disgrace - and honor,   
   All, that brings on thoughtfulness,   
   Is spilling over -   
      
   In me. - All the penal passions   
   Become as one! -   
   All images wage war inside   
   This hair of mine!   
      
   The lover's whisper, all around   
   By rote I know,   
   Experience of twenty two years   
   Nothing but sorrow!   
      
   But - won't you say - innocently pink   
   Look I,   
   I'm virtuoso's virtuoso   
   In art of lies.   
      
   In her let out like a ball,   
   Caught once again,   
   The blood of Polish great-grandmoms   
   Is evident.   
      
   I lie because in cemeteries   
   The grass does grow,   
   I lie because in cemeteries   
   Snowstorm does blow...   
      
   From violin - from automobile -   
   From silk, from fire...   
   From torment that not only me   
   They all desired!   
      
   From pain, that I am not the bride   
   Of the groom...   
   From poem and gesture - for the gesture   
   And for the poem!   
      
   From tender boa on the neck...   
   And how can I   
   Not lie - when my voice sounds more tender   
   When I do lie...   
      
   By Marina Tsvetayeva   
   Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat   
   https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)