Письмо [Pis'mo] [English translation]

I'm sad that you weren't caught in the heavy summer rain

In July night on the Baltic Bay

You haven't seen the magic of these lines.

A wave it's a pleasure to touch to

Sand with scattered stones

View, unchaging for centuries.

I'm sad that we won't ever get on a train

Which would ride through this time zone

By the arrow, pulled to the pole.

It won't reflect in that compartment a party

The window, where pictures keep changing

And we won't wake up in the morning,

embracing.

Late at night

Through all the commas finally got to the point

Address, Post Office

Don't worry, no more will I dedicate you a line

Hushed sounds

Rarely get to me in the night time

Letters break into dance

I write and never wait for an answer

Thoughts, rhymes

Light is left, sound is left, everything else erased

Dimming figures

I called only to hear the voice

Frozen rider

Rider froze, no room for the river in the channel

Edges, verges

I love, not needing a feeling in return.