Translated to English…💔
I have but one pleasure remaining:
Fingers in mouth—and a merry whistle.
Word has spread with its tarnished staining,
That I’m a scoundrel, a rogue, a bristle.
Ah, what a laughable loss to bear!
Life teems with losses that bring no gain.
Ashamed am I for faith I spared;
Bitter now for my faithless pain.
Golden distances, far, inviting—
All scorched by life’s relentless glare.
Yes, I jested and stormed, igniting,
Just to blaze with a fiercer flare.
A poet’s gift—to soothe and scar,
With fate’s own stamp upon his soul.
To wed the white rose and black toad’s mar—
That was my dream, my hopeful goal.
Those rosy days, dreams lost or wasted,
Left unfulfilled and turned to dust.
Yet if demons have my soul encased—
Then surely angels made their trust.
So for this riot and this delight,
As I journey to realms unknown,
In my last moment, my heart contrite—
I ask of those who’ll see me home:
For all my sins, both dark and vast,
And my lack of grace to redeem—
Lay me in Russian linen cast,
Under icons, to sleep and dream. (And die…)
Original author of poetry wrote it 101 years ago…
https://suno.com/song/17dae9d9-b56c-4d99-9113-27628778cdd2