Чёрная флейта [Chyornaya fleyta] [English translation]

I have carved from ebony a thin flute

That has only one sound, but many voices.

It could say in all the languages

Very quietly and secretly only one word.

I played the flute during all the polar night until dawn,

The Earth went round and returned to the mark,

My sweet flute, it's time now.

I shall split you into a thousand of chips

Along your tender body.

I told myself - it is time to cut

I told myself - it is time to cut

I told myself - it is time to cut

(I told myself)

It is crucial, that is how one kills love,

That is how soil takes dead beasts,

That is how one lets captive animals free

In posthumously free worlds,

There, where there is nothing at all (*) -

My flute plays for the sharp ears

Of animals, which can feel the most delicate whisper of the poem's spirit.

Be sick with my pain, burn yourself to death by myself.

I shall prepare for the theft

All that I have important:

All that burns - for the fire,

All that aches - for the doctor.

Without wailing and screaming

I shall assemble the whole life to give it to the lyncher

(I am not afraid).

I shall not put ashes on my head, I shall be silent,

I shall not fall to the ground and not turn into a bird (**)

I shall quietly cut the pure flute into chips,

This innocent flute with one sound.

I shall raise my hand with a knife - it is needed -

Life's weapon, pain's tool - the arrow above your chest.

Without freezing terror, without red puddle under the table,

A bright and beautiful road leads me straight away from pain to freedom!

It will not be painful, so tell me for the last time

Your only sound, your quiet word -

I am infected by you, I shall kill you, it will all be repeated!

I am sorry, my flute.

So the flute answered:

I love you.