The Pilgrims

Over the earth they come,

alpha-rays scorching them,

beta-rays scorching them,

gamma-rays scorching them,

passing Mecca and Rome,

passing Jerusalem,

ruins in front of them, ruins

behind them: the pilgrims.

Over the mountains they come;

the sea’s like dry land to them:

they suffer no harm, they succumb

to no plague, no famine.

They all have coins on their eyes,

and rockets in their hands,

and floppy disks in their minds.

They travel over the planet,

the round and empty planet,

though they’re not on earth anymore,

and there’s no one on earth anymore,

and there isn’t an earth, anyway,

anymore.

Translated by Yury Drobyshev and Carol Rumens