Konstantin Balmont

Amidst the endless desert’s melted sand,
The silent sphinx reigns on the night’s background,
In beams of moon with his gigantic head
It grows up – his eyes see none around.

With desperation of the living dead,
Which resurrected in the grave, the early,
There, struggled a slave, he pined without end:
Slaves sired their awe in the granite belly.

And there, a plot of the appalling dreams,
Amidst eternity that’s always monotonous,
Rose – a foe of the Beauty’s realms,
Just like a nightmare – silent, blind, and monstrous.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, September, 2003