Speaking In Tongues
Scribbling In Voices
Marina Tsvetayeva
Translated by Boris Leyvi
* * *
I like it that you're not diseased with me
I like I'm not enflamed by bland love shivers
And happy that the whole eternity
Won't slip off our feet in lovely fevers
With you, I like, I may afford the wit,
Be free of norms and needless to pretend
And not get blushed in a suffocating bleat
When unexpectedly we touch each other's hand
Thank you with all my heart, with a hand
For love you have for me, though unaware,
For nightly bits of time we calmly spend
Alone and rarely, which is only fair,
For our ineptness under moon,
For sun that's shining not above our sky
Where I, alas, am not to love you soon
Where you, alas, will not be ever mine
