S.Yesenin, You don't love me... - translation (rus.)
You don't love me, and at least, don't care...
Am I beautiful a little, dear girl?
You're, without looking straight in my face,
Going faint, just putting hand on shoulder.
You are young, with the very sexy grinning,
I touch you not tender and nor rude.
You, how many boys were cherishing?
How many hands remember you?
I know - they passed aside like shadows,
Without touch to your hot inner fire.
And I know - you were sitting many
On the other knees, today - on mine.
Let your eyes be half-closed, it may be
You are thinking 'bout anybody else,
I'm also not loving you, I'm sinking
In the distant and so dear land.
Don't call this passion such - a destiny,
It's the light-tempered and miserable tie, -
I know: in such a sudden meeting
It'll be easy then on leaving simply to smile.
You are also on way to scatter your feels
In the gaiety of the unjoyous days.
But don't touch those, who're not kissed,
Don't lure man, who're not inlamed.
Then in case, when you are walking down
The usual street and babbling 'bout love,
I, perhaps, shall meet you, darling,
For the next time in my run about.
And you'll say, turning your shoulder closer
To the other guy: ' Good evening! ', passionless,
Leaning down the ground, softly,
I'll answer you: 'Good evening, miss! '
Nothing then will tease her soul, never,
Nothing then will make her trembling well -
Who had love, couldn't love again in any way,
Who had burned, can't be inflamed again.
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