SIMONOV, Konstantin

Wait for me

Wait for me and I'll come back!

Wait with all your might!

Wait when dreary yellow rains

Tell you nothing's right;

Wait when snow is falling fast;

Wait when summer's hot;

When no one waits for other men

And all the past's forgot!

Wait when those that wait with you

Are bored and tired and glum,

And when it seems, from far away,

No letters ever come!

Wait for me and I'll come back!

Wait in patience yet

When they tell you off by heart

That you should forget;

And when my mother and my son

Give up on me at last

And friends sit sadly round the fire

And talk about the past

And drink a bitter glass of wine

In memory of me –

Wait! No rush to drink with them!

Tell them to wait and see!

Wait for me and I'll come back,

Escaping every fate!

‘Just a lot of luck!’ they'll say,

Those that didn't wait.

They will never understand

How, amidst the strife,

By your waiting for me, dear,

You had saved my life!

Only you and I will know

How you got me through!

Simply – you knew how to wait!

No one else but you!

I buried love and doomed myself to be

I buried love and doomed myself to be

Its monument. Above the recent grave

Upon myself I carved a dozen lines,

Beyond my strength and posthumously brave.

Love, like a runner in the marathon,

Had reached the tape but yet had lost all breath.

My love had lost the spirit and the soul

And body, lacking spirit, fell to death.

Firm as a stone, I stand amidst the graves

And all I ask is this - Let me alone!

And untoward inscriptions upon me

Do not attempt! For I am not a stone….

I cannot write a single line of verse,

I cannot write a single line of verse,

Not to the girl you were, nor to you now.

And after all the bitter words we've said

Why should we meet again for one more row?

For what you gave when I was with you - thanks!

I never reckoned the precise degree

Of how much I received, how much I gave.

I'd be surprised if you gave more to me!.

And as for all the harm, that like a burden,

You laid on me, a heavy load of pain -

It's part of me and I can deal with it.

The scars remain indeed - but not in vain.

It's too late now for idle tales of woe.

Don't fear that we shall talk till dawn and curse.

I just no longer love you, dear, and so

I cannot write you one more line of verse…