Speaking In Tongues
Scribbling In Voices

Marina Tsvetayeva

Translated by Boris Leyvi

* * *

I like it that you're not diseased with me

I like I'm not enflamed by bland love shivers

And happy that the whole eternity

Won't slip off our feet in lovely fevers

With you, I like, I may afford the wit,

Be free of norms and needless to pretend

And not get blushed in a suffocating bleat

When unexpectedly we touch each other's hand

Thank you with all my heart, with a hand

For love you have for me, though unaware,

For nightly bits of time we calmly spend

Alone and rarely, which is only fair,

For our ineptness under moon,

For sun that's shining not above our sky

Where I, alas, am not to love you soon

Where you, alas, will not be ever mine