Translation of “В неуверенном, зыбком полёте” by Aleksandr Blok
Up above you unsteadily drift,
hovering just at the edge of the void.
In the withering curve of your wings
something ancient and primal is poised.
How is it that you take to the air
without love or a soul or a face?
Imperturbable bird, what can prayer
mean to you, unconcerned with God’s grace?
Wander on through the silvery spheres,
let the music play on down below—
but as the melodies reach your deaf ears,
your heart’s whirring propeller will slow.