THE SEA

How the spearfisher is pining for the water . . .
On the lakes and the rivers there's ice and snow everywhere.
Drying out are my gills, my gear and my Bush wetsuit.
Into the water, the deep pool, my wild soul is straining!

And ice fishing doesn't give me a kick anymore
I'll soon kick the bucket without spearfishing.
And a fishless swimming pool won't fool my soul
So when will a proper spring finally break?

And I'm already dreaming of water – three meters of visibility
Perch and little roach and the toothy zander
How I dream of dashing off near Sebezh after eel.
To a beautiful forest lake full of fish.

To pull on the wetsuit like a second skin,
And fly underwater like a dolphin
The edge of the spear will cut through the water,
And the tip will pierce the armor of the carp.

Don't try to hide, catfish and zander -
Today I won't come out of the river empty-handed.
'Cause by the campfire waiting for the catch
Is Virus, forever hungry, and boy can he eat!

If together with Bekas they don't drink all the vodka
Then with a good shot I'll wet my throat too
With fish soup and the fish I've speared myself.
The impressions will wash over me in a pleasant wave . . .