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🚧Elegy

Аркадзь Куляшоў
Translated by

elect

Vly life was one long strife with grievous years — The further fought — the longer roadside rests.

My verses pull like dump-trucks through the gears, I know the hour will come, the hour which tests,

When not with dreams will branchy forest pines O’ershadow things which on the road I feared; But bowing, and not hiding evil grins, My years will greet me, each one with a beard.

Why have they come, this hoary-haired array? What kind of wonder wait? I still survive!

And having pushed their bushy beards away, Still leaning on my stick, I stand alive.

For all my years I’ll count on in good faith, Upon my journey’s each remaining day.

My last breath, like a bone, I’ll throw to Death, Beyond that threshold where her sleep holds sway.

Translated by Walter May__.

іншімншігайштшійшкліМіНІІІІІІі

КЖ 122

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Collections: Belarusan Lyric poetry