The dream

I keep on listening to this poem by Andrey Makarevich. That’s my mood today. I'm so tired of hurting and pain, I want it to be over. How long is it still that I have to wait?



I have translated the poem into English, so non-Russian reading visitors have an idea of what the poem is about:

I see the same dream again:
The sea is breathing rhythmically in front of my house,
And the house is shaking from the blows of the waves,
There are spatters of sea water on my window,
And the wall of water merges with the sky,
And the water is cold and there is no bottom,
And the ship has already arrived, and I hear the command,
And they put the gangplank to my window.
And again I shout: “Wait! Wait!
I’m not ready yet, give my one day to get ready!
Give me just one day without phone calls,
Without the rain outside, without yesterday's truths.
Give me just one day!” But they don’t hear me...
They put away the gangplank and take off,
The steering wheel is squeaking, and I hear the command.
(Spatters of sea water are left on my window.)
And for a moment the sky is hidden behind the sails,
And the water is boiling, and the ship departs...
I stand by the window and swallow my tears,
Because there will be no ship anymore...
I am left with the slush of the Moscow streets,
Fragments of lanterns as if at the river bottom,
And faces of the passing by strangers,
And a cold tea. And an autumn evening

I have removed the bondage off my back today and saw the stitches. It’s very weird to see thread sticking out of my back like this.

And by the way, my accent is more important than my hair! Today is the last day to vote - so do it!