Ольга Качанова - Облака
текст песни

The clouds walk across the sky on foot,
Somewhat resembling white elephants.
No one can know for sure
What will happen to them, what will happen to us.

They look down on us from above,
They are well off – spacious and cool,
Without names, without time, without visas,
And without customs, damn them!

And we stare at them from below,
Envious that they have such a smooth path.
They will pour down as rain on Thursday
In some distant Australia.

I have no friends there,
Even less so childhood acquaintances.
But there is one poet in Australia,
He lived in Odessa in the seventies.

He didn't answer my letter,
Perhaps he's ill, I'm not offended.
But I want him, through the Sydney smog,
To be able to see this cloud.

He's probably working in the garden,
Or perhaps sweeping the path to his house.
Although I won't come to visit him,
We've never even met.

He won't die, and I won't die either,
Otherwise there's no reason to be a poet.
And the cloud with the eyes of a kangaroo
Will be a greeting to me from Australia.