There was time, I was writing at any pretext –
When I slipped, when I fell, hit someone in the face …
But now day time flows differently way that is why
I still wait for last loss and I cry, and I cry.

The gray hair’s at my temples and beard and about
Fear of my loneliness doesn’t allow to be proud.
Though I did not leave wives, did not leave kids of mine
But I drink veronal and I cry, and I cry…


* Авторский перевод на английский язык.
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http://www.poezia.ru/article.php?sid=10146