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There are poles by the Black Sea.

Ice poles. There are plenty of them as blackberries.

Black-sailed ships are coming here.

There are hosts of the dead in them as in tombs.

Winters are fading. Eternal winters.

In the black sea of loneliness and depth

Sometimes animals come here too.

Sometimes birds come over.

Here’s death, longing and black sea

They’ll come, bow down and fall.

Being tired of striving, tired of whirling.

They’ll fall into anguish in Black Sea.

They’ll get out of business and hustle – they’ll die

Their number is tremendous, among the number of Fate.

Their cry is desperate …

Our cry is desperate…

Forever. Silence. Hostility. It’s late.

Aging, Frailty and death…