Nina Gorsky

I’ll yield to a court of yours, injustice,
Like to the gray autumn’s assault.
In fight for earth and heaven’s highness, 
He did not tiered – Don Quixote,          
Didn’t he become cold or unwilling,
Didn’t lost his movement, resolute…
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
But wind, destroying the mills winging,
Stole my victory for good.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, May, 2001