Translation:

Like a wave covering a breakwater, my mind leaves my speech overflowed. Would you tell me about the seagulls? What’s their life like in Crimean cold?

Ayu-Dag is still there, he’s lying with his muzzle turned to the sea. Is he watching the stars, that see Gurzuf? How does life drag in Gurzuf? Do they remember the youthful Circassian there?

The fishermen are there, they‘re catching the horse mackerel, mullet, pelengas, or not? Is it snowing? Does the water in springs taste good? Is anyone waiting for us in the cold?

Are there elements still wearing muzzles? And Dzhankoy does not know the sea. Does the same hand pour the abomination at the table on your demand?

I would like to go there by train. You and I, and the off-season’s here. So that the beach is cold and mere. So that the sea’s there only for you and me.