The Wings

Перевод стихотворения "Крила" Л. Костенко
Илюстрация Елены Шнайдер
(8 февраля 2013 года)

I wonder – feathered races don't need the grounds.
If there’s no land, it will be clouds.

There will be freedom, if there’s no haven.
If there’s no love – there will be heaven.

This is probably the bird’s sooth.
And what about human? What about truth?

Not able to fly, he lives on the Earth.
But have the wings! It's precious worth!

These wings aren’t made of feathers and fluff.
They’re made of the honour, integrity, trust.

Some wings of perpetual aspiration,
Others of passionate dedication.

Somebody’s wings are filled of effort,
Somebody’s of treatment of flint-heart desert.

Somebody has wings of his hope, of the dream,
Of their’s laurels, of glory, esteem.

Human allegedly can’t live in the sky... 
But we have our wings! And we can fly!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B8HU-VQ02pA