The last attempt at being happy man
By pressing ‘gainst all curves, all bends
Of prattling whiteness trembling in embrace,
Taste elder-berries in narcotic haze.

The last attempt at being happy man,
As if it is my ghost that’s standing on a cliff
About to jump - escape all hurts he’s felt
To where I was broken long ago to bits.

There on my broken bones that rest
A dragonfly has settled for a time,
And ants are quiet visitors and guests
Of empty sockets of my former eyes.

I’ve turned to soul. I’ve slipped out of the matter,
Escaped from medley, hash of broken bones,
But I’m so sick of being ghost, a specter,
And gravitate again to chasms where I belong.

A ghost in love is scaring more than dead.
But you were not afraid, have rightly guessed,
And like in precipice into each other we then fell,
But spreading wide its wings to all embrace
The precipice then lifted us on misty haze.

It’s not on bed that we are resting thus,
But on a fluffy mist that’s barely holding us,
I’m ghost, no, I will not be broken twice,
But you’re alive. You make me worry much.

Again in circles raven flies in mourning clad
Awaiting mortal flesh fresh on a battlefield place.
The last attempt at being happiest man.
The last attempt to fall in love, be blessed.

1986
Yevgeny Yevtushenko.
From a collection of poems “Slow Love”