Some things may sound quite funny in a poem of mine,
And yet it speaks of suffering, of our curse’s sign.
The tortures of my soul, indeed, they make me laugh,
How long am I doomed to suffer, as though I hadn’t enough?
My grief is like a snake with such deceptive shiny skin.
Deep fear mixed with happiness; instead of a smile – a grin.
Oh no, I am in sorrow through my days, I swear.
You’re staring at my shoes? Galoshes I choose to wear.
1912
В оригинале на татарском: Көлке түгел