This pain – the alcohol of agony,
this sorrow, frozen up and stiff.
Try to retype all of your curses,
try to rewrite the grief.

We’ve long forgotten what it means to live,
and what is world, and what are we ourselves.
To enter one’s own body still
is granted but to the insane.

So faced with the Satan-worthy choice,
the maddening choice, hold on until
it’s time to go, feeling your footsteps
upon your graying hair.

translated by oksana maksymchuk

the original poem