Long ago were paths to the past closed, And what shall I do with past, at all? What is there? Just washed with blood flat stones, Or the door, immured in a wall. Or the echo, that all time me worries, Tho’ I pray it to be silent, hard… To this echo happened the same story, That – to one, I bear in my heart. Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2002