Songs

Nashi predki lezli v kletki
Our forefathers would creep into their cages,
I sheptalis tam ne raz:
Oftentimes whispering there:
“Tugo, bratsy… Vidno, deti
“Times are hard, brothers… But at least our children
Budut zhit volgotnei nas.”
Will live more freely than we do.”

Deti vyrosli. I eti
The children grew up. And they too
Lezli v kletki v groznyi chas
Crept into their cages when times grew tough,
I vzdykhali: “Nashi deti
Sighing: “Our children
Vstretyat solntse posle nas.”
Will greet the sun when we are gone.”

Nynche tak zhe, kak voveki,
Today things are as they ever were,
Utesheniye odno:
There is just one source of consolation:
Nashi deti budut v Mekke,
Our children will be in Mecca,
Esli nam ne suzhdeno.
Even if we are not destined to.

Dazhe sroki predskazali:
Even the time of waiting was foretold:
Kto – let dvesti, kto – pyatsot,
Some said two hundred years – others – five hundred,
A poka, lezhi v pechali
In the meantime, lie there in sadness,
I mychi, kak idiot.
Mooing like an idiot.

Razukrashennye duli,
All is clover, milk and honey,
Mir umyt, prichyosan, mil…
A world scrubbed clean, hair neatly combed…
Let chrez dvesti? Chyorta v stule!
In two hundred years? Forget it!
Razve ya Mafusail?
Who do you take me for? Methuselah?!

Ya – kak filin na oblomakh
I am like an eagle owl on the debris
Perelomannykh bogov.
Of fractured gods.
V nerodivshikhsya potomkakh
Amidst my descendants who are yet to be born
Net mne bratyev i vragov.
I have neither brothers nor enemies.

Ya khochu nemnozhko sveta
All I want is a little light
Dlya sebya, poka ya zhiv;
For myself, whilst I still live;
Ot portnovo do poeta –
From the tailor to the poet –
Vsem ponyaten moi prizyv…
All can understand my wish…

A potomki… Pust potomki,
As for our descendants… Let them,
Ispolnyaya zhrebii svoi
As they live out their destiny
I klyanya svoi potyomki,
And curse their darkness,
Lupyat v stenku golovoi!
Bash their own heads against a wall!