Thirty years now Russia’s lived in fetters,
in Magadan, in Kolyma —
but the Russia that will live for ever
is the one now dying in Kolyma.
Россия тридцать лет живёт в тюрьме.
На Соловках или на Колыме.
И лишь на Колыме и Соловках
Россия та, что будет жить в веках.
Всё остальное — планетарный ад:
Прокля́тый Кремль, злощастный Сталинград.
Они достойны только одного —
Огня, испепелящего его.
«Outside the window once again / A fir is lit by snow.. / This cradle of yours, my dear friend, / Why did you outgrow? The snowflakes fly, to all adhere, / And melt too fast to know... / What therefore for, you stupid one, / Did you it outgrow? Days' weight upon it didn't press / T'w...»
«With a milky and even wave / The moon washed the cold parquet. / I sweetly was sleeping under the moon, / To a hot cheek pressing a bouquet. With light and with sleep doubly disturbed, / I opened the eyes sleepy, / And like a pink angel without wings / The Girl Death leaned to me. Meda...»
«I have brought you a bouquet, / Scarlet-red roses, poppies. / I'm not same in anything, / I'm the happy boy-madness. I'll blow out a yellow candle — / It will be a flashlight pink. / And a golden diadem / I will wear like a king. I'm a conqueror sleepy / Kingdoms, a mage. Is't ful...»
«Let's meet the stranger with a lamp, / With a quiet, loyal flame. / Only no hidden whisper, / No whisper about him! We do not need the bright light now, / Dim the lamp till it's barely lit. / Only no sight of the better, / No sight of it! May in a careless worry / Year like a day onl...»