Ткачиха [Tkachikha] [English translation]

I was dreaming a dream, and I saw myself as a female weaver in that dream,

The weaver, that often turns into me when I'm asleep.

For a long time I couldn't understand whether I'm her dream,

Or whether she is my dream.

Yes, I know, the Chinese used to write about this,

But the theory is dry, and the tree of life

Is green with its leaves;

I'll have to wake up and go to Ivanovo (a village in Russia)

To check how things are going on there in real life.

Volga (a river in Russia) is carrying its waves (Volga is flowing by noisily);

Not every bird would reach its other bank (flying there from this bank)

And the banks are literally black, that's how many people there are standing on the banks,

Waiting for the bodies of their enemies to float by.

Only the full moon

Makes the interchange of these hills and valleys lively,

Thank God that it never read neither "The Little Flowers of St. Fransis"

Nor Dao De Jing.

Camels are walking slowly across a desert

Each one of them has something different on its mind,

One acquaintance of mine was like that too: he was walking, planning to conquer the North Pole,

And came to be an entrepreneur in Kostroma (a small-time Russian town).

So the undertakings that begin mightily,

Turn to the side, loose the name of the action--it's such a crying shame!

I don't see any reason to struggle and go anywhere

If you are not there in the end of the day.

I'm sitting on a deserted cliff

I'm watching clouds floating by

My heart is like old ashes,

My eyes are like the eyes of a complete idiot.

I'm not starting anything, let everything

Flow by itself, like river Volga.

There's a hungry cat under the stairs,

Let me go down (to the cat), bring her some milk.