Wie aus der Dämmerung gewebt, erschien Plyonka an einem frühen Morgen vor unserer Haustür. Die Luft vibrierte vom Gesang der Spatzen, und auf dem rissigen Pflaster hingen noch die letzten Perlen des Taus. Sie war dünn, ihre Rippen zeichneten sich zart unter dem stumpfen Fell ab, das die staubige Farbe der Wege trug.

In the old streets of Odessa, where the scent of the sea mixed with the smoke of tobacco, there was once a man who walked alone.

At the first count of the waltz, she closed her eyes to see.

A secret hymn, a floating dream, a quiet reverie.

A three count waltz gave her the time to sway.

A world spun soft in rhythm’s arms, where shadows danced away.

The door was wide open and my mother was just about to take out the garbage when I heard it - the familiar whistle echoing through the hallway. As always, it was a sunny sound, cheerful and warm, coming up from downstairs to us on the third floor.

We give a part of ourselves

For someone to build their own soul.

Just like mosaic is made out of many,

We need many to become a whole

Geträumt hat Nikolai Ivanovich von seiner verstorbenen Tante in einem schwarzen Seidenkleid, die begeistert auf einem runden Hocker hinter einem riesigen Konzertflügel schwankte. Ihre Finger tanzten über die Tasten, ohne dabei einen einzigen Ton aus dem Instrument zu bringen.

A man who always dressed in Grey

Started to slowly fade away.

No joy, no sorrow stirred his soul,

A hollow man, an empty hole.

In my dream there was a land flowing with milk and honey.