on the river,
winds are slowly sailing,
a dry wreath on the water,
blown to move faster
its braided rwigs,
blown to the sh*r*s,
and erasing old memories…
a horse is going by on a steppe,
i lost the serenity,
and the rivers of tears,
a brown horse without a rider,
going by as an orphan,
anguish is burning me,
as of young nettles.
where the flowers grow on fields,
calling us with their white color,
we got engaged last spring,
on a bridge near the river,
promised ourselves to each other,
we dropped wreathes on the water
from our heads.
a horse is going by on the gr*ss,
a flame of sorrow in my heart
is now burning again.
the horse is going by without a rider,
its eyes are always looking for him,
i will lament all these nights,
but i will wait for you for centuries.