Clouds in sky - the eternal great wanderers!
Through a blue steppe in the pearl and white chain
You race, as me, exiled ones, from my lovely land,
From north to south, where now I stand.
Who kicks you out? The destiny's reason?
The secret envy? The opened malice?
Or that's a crime? Or the friend's killing smear,
The poisonous drop in your undisguised chalice?
No, I think, you were totally tired
Of barren fields... You were alien to sufferings;
Alien to passions and cold in desires...
Free from your native land, free from exile...
By Mikhail Yurievich Lermontov
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem