Speaking In Tongues
Scribbling In Voices

Boris Chichibabin

Translated by Alex Sitnitsky

Take off the tiredness from me, oh, Mother Death.

And I don’t ask the honor for my labor.

Just grant the drowsiness, the coolness, do this favor

To a body which is mine and lengthy like a lath.

I’m so fatigued. And I refuse to fight.

Don’t care anymore. No more then for three hours

The slumber comes to me. It is vexatious, onerous.

A wish of death dwells in my dreams tonight.

The Book of Evil is unbearable to read.

The Book of Good already was turned over.

Oh, Mother Death, relieve your tired rover,

Cover my nakedness with a burlap. I quit.

A mortal ice put on my brow and chest.

Will let me rest with no awaking, freely.

I’m so fatigued. I’m not like others, really.

It was so hard for me to try to do my best.

And I believed in Spirit. Stubborn, mad,

I called for God — instead I saw inferno.

My nose bleeds when, through this vision — torment,

I squirm, convulsing, every night in bed.

Only the verses will not dim. Though, lest

A few of them are to avoid oblivion.

I’m tired like a slave; by single will I’m driven —

Take off the tiredness from me, oh, Mother Death..