Привкус соли Я внутри ледника... Я в утробе...

Taste of salt

I'm inside the glacier ...
I'm in the womb of Antarctica itself ...
I am a warm-blooded child with cold eyes.

I was conceived by a warm random wind ...
I will be born with pain and with the collapse of my fragile castle.
I will grow under the sun and hate winter ...

I will exhale steam from my mouth and hide my gloved hands.
Because I have from You, Mom, only my eyes are cold ...

I am writing to you, my Cold Mother ...
This is me, your imperfect creation.
Every morning of your color ...
This color has even grown into my skin, see?

You know, father sometimes visits me ...
He sweeps past, burns his face and laughs wildly.
I would ask how are you there, Dear, but I can not keep up with him ...

Give me a chance to be born again, Mother!
Give me the opportunity to dance with a blizzard ...
Let me see the deep darkness of your night ...
Let me drink a couple of sips of the ocean with Cousteau’s soul!
Let you be intoxicated ...

Teach me to look at warm things with the same cold.
I won’t even breathe if you love me ...

But you slip away again ...
Now I feel You only at my fingertips.
Dream me at night, my Antarctica ...
You are with me every time I freeze ... Aron Voronov