Wings By Ilia Kormiltsev
You are putting out evening dress
facing the wall, my Muse,
I see fresh scars, I must confess,
on back that's velvet and smooth.
I want to cry of a cruel pain,
or to forget all with dream,
Where are your wings, my autumn rain,
these were so precious for me?
Where are your wings now
these were so precious for me?
Somewhen we had a time, dear,
Now we have a great job,
to prove that black is white here,
that strong's eating weak, there's no hope.
There's something we lost in action
of crazy war as I see,
By the way, where're your wings of passion
these were so precious for me?
Where are your wings now
these were so precious for me?
I don't ask how much money you have,
How many husbands you've got,
I see upper floors scare you like death,
Open windows scare you a lot.
And if tomorrow will start the fire,
engulfing all building, and we
will die without these wings of desire,
They were so precious for me.
Where are your wings now
these were so precious for me?
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Ilia Kormiltsev
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