C’mon, say something to her, stop,
There’s no night, no war,
High up in the dark there’s only her stubborn desire to leave.
Who’ll calm her down? Who’ll stop her if not you?
Just stop her, don’t let her go,
Let her keep talking nonsense.
Let her keep mixing her blood with tears.
Then someday she’ll leave,
but let her stay until winter.
Oh, how long the nights are,
Oh, how protracted the smoke.
Even if the light in the morning
will be blinding and blue.
She’ll still only listen to you.
Even if her saints will be angry and harsh,
Let it happen now. Otherwise it might not happen at all.
Don’t let her go,
while the sun is seeping through the fog.
The fall will end and winter will begin,
She’s afraid of being alone most of all.
Even if her saints will be kind in their grief,
She can only complain to you,
She feels most alone in a crowd.
Tell something you’ve never said before
about folks and fowl,
about beasts and fish,
about the perpetuity of coal and the weightlessness of grain.
Life ought to roll on,
Even when there’s a war going on.
Who will believe you if not her.
© Serhiy Zhadan
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