From 'BURDEN' by Lyubov Sirota

At night, of course, our town
though emptied forever, comes to life.
There, our dreams wander like clouds,
illuminate windows with moonlight.
There trees live by unwavering memories,
remember the touch of hands.
How bitter for them to know
there will be no one for their shade
to protect from the scorching heat!
At night their branches quietly rock
our inflamed dreams.
Stars thrust down
onto the pavement,
to stand guard until morning…
But the hour will pass…
Abandoned by dreams,
the orphaned houses
whose windows
have gone insane
will freeze and bid us farewell!…

Translated from the Russian by Leonid Levin and Elisavietta Ritchie

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