THE SKY'S UNWASHED...
by Taras Shevchenko, 1848

The sky's unwashed and the waves are sleepy,
And on the edges of the shore, way out there,
The rushes, as if drunk,
Sway without wind... Lord have mercy!
How long am I to languish here,
In this open prison,
On this useless sea?
No answer from
The grass that's yellowed in the steppe.
It's silent and bows as if alive.
It will not speak honestly...
And I've no one else to ask.

translated from the Ukrainian
by Virlana Tkacz and Wanda Phipps

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