At times, I sit in front of her, admiring her eyes,
Her pupils dark, her eyebrows black, the beautiful disguise.
I don’t know where she’s coming from; she knows not what I mean,
Yet hours pass by, she still recounts what she has heard and seen.
Still as a sphinx, my eyes on her, I echo every word,
And so she thinks I am in love, enthralled with what I’ve heard.
In fact, I cannot understand a single word I hear.
What is the sense? Why even try? It’s pointless, I fear.
If she perceives that I pretend she’ll fly into a rage.
But ’tis the truth, I cannot lie, her fears I can’t assuage.
I hate it when she carries on, obsessed with empty matters.
Why can’t she say, “I love you so!” Instead, she sits and chatters.
She is prattling at me, always happy to share…
I gladly respond but continue to stare
At her, so she’s sure I’m in love.
That might be the reason why I can’t move.
I am all attention. My pose is so tense,
I hear every word but can’t make any sense.
1907
В оригинале на татарском: Утырышу
В переводе на русский язык: Свидание (Перевод В.Думаевой-Валиевой)