B. Okudzhava: Circus (Цирк - не парк), by Rashpill

C i r c u s

            Lyrics and music by B.Okudzhava
            English translation by Rashpill, 2010

Circus isn’t like a park where you go to relax.
In the circus you suppose to fell and fly, to hate and love,
And up there, by the dome, in the dome, when you glide,
Nothing heavy, nothing dubious you should carry in your mind.

All our bright and festive costumes are the vanity and hell.
All our gingerbready smiles don’t worth an empty shell,
When compared to the red and golden plumes on horses’ heads;
When compared to the eyes that have a hope, but no fears.

Oh, the Hope, you are flying angel image in the soul!
How splendid is your old holy presence in the world!
Even if you were lost as if you were never since,
How generous are you at spreading out saving wings

Over the arena, over all the fairs, clowns and balls,
Over anxiety of frequenters and terror of the folks,
Being buried alive, you rise and shine to those tough,
Those who don’t want to rest, but fell and fly, and hate, and love!