In the distant substations, at night,
Lamps are burning with white-cold light –
Electricity of the domestic breed is bearing.
In the distant substations, at night,
Shadows of no one are utmostly slight.
Electricity groans and smells like bleeding.
In the distant substations, at night,
Eyes of travelers get long-expected sight,
Singeing the eyelids with a clear-cut snapshot.
Darkling meadows are dreaming of morning-dew…
And you feel that someone is waiting for you –
In the distant substations, at night
…hundreds of miles from home.
–Sergey Mikhaylov
(Tapadh leat, etc. ))