Приветствую! Только что нашла в анналах Самиздата этот перевод. Кидаю сюда, ибо все это достаточно интересно. И очень хотелось бы узнать, Элхэ, как Вы к этому относитесь. Автор перевода Павел Алексеев. Заранее прошу прощения за дурацкое форматирование.
The World That Does Not Exist
Translated from Niennah (c) "Мир, которого нет".
"My son! There are no any islands..."
There are no islands, no other worlds except for this world there exist, Your memory is just the rippling of water, the wind on the grass, the dew from the morning mist. There is no road among the stars, behind your back - no wings: We are no children that to believe in books and legends, tales and forgotten dreams. We are no children, Remember! And this is no more than a game: The stars cannot sing, and there is nothing to listen at night by the fire's flame. A guitar cannot change to a lute, or iron to wood, or a swamp to a crystal stream: It is only an ancient lore, a has-not-been secret, a sad long-forgotten dream. But why then again and again do we strive to that world that can never be, Knowing it is a game, and the door is locked, and to a legend no one can flee? That's an attempt to escape from the colourless sky, from the asphalt and city's fuss, Break the reality's frame and in absurd endeavour to reach for the light of the stars. But there are no islands, no other worlds except for this world there exist, So why then we're ready to run from our homes away to that starlit mist? Why do we seek the ages-old truths in the make-believe stories' midst? How could we believe in that bitter and bright world that does not exist? How dared we behold that bitter and bright world that does not exist? How could we recall that bitter and bright world that does not exist?...
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