A Violinist

A musician has hung his frock-coat on a chair,

Smooth out a black bow on his neck by a nervous hand.

Come up to him close – for better listening,

If you are not drunk too much.

About wretch and happy men, about goodness and evil,

About fierce hatred and a holy love…

What was in our World and what’ll be there,

Everything is in his music – you need to catch it just.

Noisy affairs are around you and your years pass through.

Why did you came to the World – you didn’t remember always.

Violin sounds will wake alive and sleep in your body

 If you are not drunk too much.

About wretch and happy men, about goodness and evil,

About fierce hatred and a holy love…

What was in our World and what’ll be there,

Everything is in his music – you need to catch it just.

The violin is tired – it’s difficult to sing about pain and fear,

And the violinist is tired too – bitterness is on his leaps.

And he came out without any farewell, left his mute case.

Like he was drunk today.

But his melody remained in foliage and wind,

Among people noise, it’s hardly catch for ear   

About wretch and happy men, about goodness and evil,

About fierce hatred and a holy love…