200 minutes of journey –
1100 kilometers will be left behind,
And the day will dissolve
In fiery whirlwinds of sunset wind.
Everything that was left inside of it
Will seem, from a distance, to be just a trivial story
In the noise of other problems,
It’s just a usual formal curiosity...
And yet it’s impossible for us to love
Everyone, who waits for our love on the planet,
A hand is unlikely to touch another person’s hand,
In this fairytale.
We aren’t given a chance
To feel the emotions of other people inside of ourselves
Our own feelings are of most importance,
Everything else is just a matter of control,
And there’s, obviously,
No less egoism than in a usual life,
And yet progress couldn’t
Give us the way out of this typical problem.
And it is a paradox for thousands of people,
But the wonderful feeling only disturbs them,
In the realm of monads without windows and doors
It simply vanishes.
And, today, this dream is unrealistic,
The dream of loving everyone on earth:
The eternal spring hasn’t come to this world
In this fairy tale.