Fruits of the labor (by I.Beletsky, translated by O.Pokhodzey)
The slower you move – the faster life goes
Cupboard gets to the top, you don’t.
To grasp the age with teeth,
were always not worth a damn
Though stood steady, like wonders of nature
Acacia means America.
Spotty leaves on the blue.
Now you’re for sure ready to go вown
The valley to the deaf forefathers.
It’s limpid now in the room.
At this time the fruits of the labour
Separate from their author,
Stop being the labour itself.
And the sorrow deceives.
The season washed out from sorrow
Is in view beforehand.
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