What a cat has cried?

Omission of the rainy sun,

The night wraps without seal

The decorations that misery sweeps.

Is humanity only great

What a cat has cried?
(Кот наплакал, Not so much)*

For religion to strangle our rainy hearts

All it would take is a bridge between our skies;

But fear has big eyes
(У страха глаза велики, the mind exaggerates reality when we are afraid)

Waiting for the weather to change by the sea.
(Ждать с моря погоды, Waiting for a future that did not come)

I will walk relentlessly, under the victorious sky

The earwigs will accompany my boots

In the heather I will hem the earth

Until my voice carries

Work is not a wolf –

He will not run away into the woods
(Работа – не волк, в лес не убежит, an expression used when one wishes to take a break)

Like the bear flees the escort of voices

Of men ensilhouetted by their only laws

Should we go and steal tomatoes in the mountains
(На Кудыкину гору воровать помидоры, Going somewhere)

To get the answer to our deceptions?

Squeeze the long flowers of coconuts,

The icy juicy lemons,

Where the dog is buried?
(Вот где собака зарыта, expression used when the root of a problem is found)

Sitting on the side of the road
(Сядем на дорожку, Sitting on your suitcase is, according to superstition, the assurance of a successful trip)

Embarrassing the world of stamped bills?

Let me squirt my doubts

On the insect-covered tarpaulins

Of the pools given over to our prejudices

During a crawl yesterday, the rain whipped my skin

I drank the dubious taste of over-macerated peaches

From the hell of my hosts I envied the blindfold

That masked the impurity to their amethyst eyes

It overhangs the rumbling river,

A house orchestrates a sad recital

The money weighs down our boats

As for me a folded sarafane* is waiting for me
(* traditional Russian dress)

The living room is minimalist, my dress smells of summer

I lengthen my step to the rhythm of the seasons

Throwing dust at your dark eyes
(Пускать пыль в глаза, Boasting)

I will spit no turquoise sky

My words are unholy, and your doors are closed to me,

(Давай, Come on!)

I have taken what I am into my hands,
(Взять себя в руки, Get a grip)

The breath of the wind swells my rings

At the threshold of a heady summer

I discovered the back of my neck as I paced the terrace

My foot was treading a geometry of flowers,

I shouted without punctuation nor enthusiasm

By catching a hat which flew away

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