To leave for seaside. To pursue the shadows

To leave for seaside. To pursue the shadows.
To heed the empty spaces of my soul.
To feel the orphanness of dreams, the callous
Way in which they into hatred have ingrown.

To stray from home, and not to write a single line.
To cut the roots with finely-sharpened quill.
To envy the excitement that ellipses hide,
With whom uncertainty is generous to the hilt.

To greet the deep. To shun from heaven's ease.
To change myself among the day's unshaking calm.
And sink my hands in ashes past the wrists,
In ashes, that I've finally become.

To hide in shade. To merge with the upholstery.
To be one with the floorboards and the wall.
To willfully renounce my ailing body
And to become like tar, with concrete stirred.

To tear a letter up. And then, to write again.
To spurn it all, along with howling's volume.
To not seek cure from death in death's domain.
And to be deaf. And, therefore - free of worries.

Перевод на английский (перевод от Интернационального союза писателей) стихотворения: http://www.stihi.ru/2016/12/20/10828