She's waiting for love from the west and the east, She's waiting for love from the north and the south. World falls from the trees like autumn leaves, Love - is the gas, no smells or colors. She's lighting up matches, one after one, Forgetting the danger that dwells in the fire. The flames she is blowing and fanning on, But everyone knows - the flame is expired. The people are coming with milk and cheese, The wretched people, seeming world-happy. The people are coming with breads and meats, The wretched people, forgotten by heaven. She is so drunk on this air accursed, She is in love with the comb and the mirror. In her breast - a dove that knows no rest, In her eyes - stars behind secret door. No thief, no fool can offend her at all, She does not hide anything golden. To the unseeing ones she is so old, To the unknowing ones she is alone. The people are coming with milk and cheese, The wretched people, seeming world-happy. The people are coming with breads and meats, The wretched people, forgotten by heaven. By Nautilus Pompilius Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat http://geocities.ws/ilya_shambat2005/
