by Petya Dubarova

On Saturdays I'm unappreciated -
wild, flexible, and lively as a lynx.
And tiredness, having turned into a whim,
vacates me like a wound - healed up and faded.

School totally collapses in my mind
and I am far from registers an blackboards.
A hundred thousand rivers run towards me,
tints, hues, and rainbows fill my eyes,

and I get rhythms from those gipsy women.
I'm very, very strong - a vine in spring,
and I turn my guitar into a tear;
I never ask questions, never listen.

On Saturdays I'm unappreciated -
wild, flexible, and lively as a lynx.
And fear, sorrow, tiredness or whims
vacate me like a wound - healed up and faded.

And I'm not even sure who I am.
But when I put on Monday's uniform -
that blackboard-tunic once again,
I turn into a good girl as before.