Bulat Okudzhava

* * *
My Hope, at this successive session
will you please play me something special
and make the blush come off my face,
just like a horse that goes the pace.

I beg of you please play me something
in order that there might be nothing :
nor notes, nor keys, nor peace, nor sky...
Am I unhappy ?
It’s a lie.

We’re yet to cry and laugh and smile
but not give in
nor reconcile.
We haven’t passed the main ascent
and haven’t found each other yet.

These streets and lanes are
like your sisters
Your playing is their voice, for instance,
and midnight click of their heels ...
I have desirous eyes, it seems.

I like so much the way you’re playing
as if you were slowly fading...
But there is something in your fire,
I don’t know what though I desire.