Ballad of the flying cats (4)



Original poem in Russian. Translation: InterestEng. staff

I stood on my balcony, dreaming. And from there I suddenly saw, a fluffy flock of flying cats, in a long formation heading south.

“Where are you going?” I cried from my perch. You are ordered to run on the ground! There is nothing in nature that gives you the right to break free and fly around.”

But they paid me no heed, nor their journey delayed. Their tails they merely waved. And then from the heavens as clear as the wind, a loud sweet purring came:


On serene waves of the horizon, in search of an unknown land, inspired and determined fly we cats — a defiant caravan!  In far-off unknown spaces, in light-filled happy places, are rewards not hidden in holes, but heaped like cherries in bowls.  There, mice are huge and sweet—and lakes filled with cream. There, children carry no sticks ... nor delight in cats being kicked! There, you can lay atop flowers and at night bellow and howl. There, owners have no habits, where the culling of litters is allowed. We migrant cats fly on and on, with neither wings, chassis, nor screws. Forging a road in the heavens we fly. A road for cats with high views.


I stand as if glued to the balcony, until the song in the distance fades. With my mouth open and my heart racing I say, “Why was I not a cat made?!  And why cannot I, in the sky fly? Ax, fate you fool us with wretched lies! Would that I could catch up to the line and take my place in the journey sublime.”

— Lubov Cirota-Dimitrova

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