by Alexander Mironov

Horror, after many years,
Will turn out to be less bitter,
Like the boa constrictor embracing
Your neck but feeling only itself
In the funeral movement of the body —
Consciousness — body — . . .
Horror, after many years,
Will be hollow and will embrace you,
deceive you with some “pas,”
And finish with some “arabesque”:
There life is left — just for fun . . ..
Hang oneself ? — but there is nobody to hang with.

Translated from Russian by Aleksey Porvin and Tony Brinkley.