On the seat next to me
a three or four-year-old angel
wearing ushanka hat
for the last few stops
keeps on asking the question:

Daddy, why wouldn’t you talk to me?
Daddy, why wouldn’t you talk to me?
Daddy, why wouldn’t you talk to me?

Then leans his forehead on the glass – and so pass
nearly two millennia.
The trolley reaches their stop,
Daddy wordlessly stretches out a hand,
they get off.

Myself and, forgive me, humanity,
remain in our seats.

Author: Marin Bodakov
Translator: Katerina Stoykova