Black man – Sergey Yesenin

My friend, My friend,
I am very, very ill.
I don't know myself, where did this pain come from.
Is the wind whistling
Over an empty and deserted field,
That is, like a grove in September,
Alcohol showered the brains.

My head is waving its ears,
Like a bird with wings,
Her legs are on her neck
Looming is no longer possible.
Black man,
The black, the black,
Black man
Sits on my bed,
Black man
Doesn't let me sleep all night.

Black man
Runs her finger over the nasty book
AND, nasal over me,
Like a monk over the deceased,
Reads me life
Some scoundrel and a bum,
Catching up on longing and fear.
Black man,
The black, the black…

"Hear, hear, —
He mumbles to me, —
The book contains many of the most beautiful
Thoughts and plans.
This person
Lived in the country
The most disgusting
Thug and charlatans.

December in that country
Snow before the devil is clear,
And blizzards start
Merry spinning wheels.
There was a man that adventurer,
But the highest
And the best brand.

He was graceful,
Besides the poet,
At least a little,
But by grasping strength,
And some woman,
Forty plus years,
Called a nasty girl
And my dear ".

"Happiness, - he said,, —
There is dexterity of mind and hands.
All the awkward souls
Always known for the unfortunate.
It's nothing,
What a lot of torment
Bring the broken
And deceitful gestures.

In thunderstorms, in the storm,
Into everyday chill,
Bereavement
And when you're sad,
Seeming smiling and simple -
The highest art in the world ".

"Black man!
Don't you dare it!
You're not on duty
You live as a diver.
What do I care about life
Scandalous poet.
You are welcome, others
Read and tell ".

Black man
Stares at me.
And the eyes are covered
Blue vomit.
Like he wants to tell me,
That I am a crook and a thief,
So shameless and insolent
Robbing someone.
…………………
…………………

My friend, My friend,
I am very, very ill.
I don't know myself, where did this pain come from.
Is the wind whistling
Over an empty and deserted field,
That is, like a grove in September,
Alcohol showered the brains.

Frosty night ...
Quiet tranquility of the crossroads.
I'm alone at the window,
No guest, I'm not expecting a friend.
The whole plain is covered
Loose and soft lime,
And trees, like riders,
Came together in our garden.

Somewhere crying
Night Creepy Bird,
Wooden horsemen
Sow a hoofed clatter.
Here again this black
Sits on my chair,
Raising your top hat
And casually throwing back his coat.

"Hear, hear! —
He wheezes, looking me in the face.
Himself getting closer
And leans closer. —
I did not see, so someone
From scoundrels
So unnecessary and stupid
Suffered from insomnia.

Brother, put, wrong!
After all, today is the moon.
What else is needed
Drunk drowsy world?
Can, with thick thighs
Secretly "she" will come,
And you will read
Your dead languid lyrics?

Brother, I love poets!
Funny people!
I always find in them
History, familiar to my heart,
As a pimple student
Long haired freak
Speaks of worlds,
Sexual exhaustion.

I do not know, I do not remember,
In one village,
Can, in Kaluga,
Or maybe, in Ryazan,
There lived a boy
In a simple peasant family,
Yellow haired,
With blue eyes…

And now he became an adult,
Besides the poet,
At least a little,
But by grasping strength,
And some woman,
Forty plus years,
Called a nasty girl
And my dear ".

"Black man!
You are a nasty guest!
This glory is long
It spreads about you ".
I'm pissed, enraged,
And my cane flies
Straight to his face,
On the bridge of the nose ...
………………….

... The month died,
Dawn turns blue through the window.
Brother, you, ночь!
What are you, ночь, wrapped!
I'm standing in a top hat.
No one with me.
I am alone…
And - a broken mirror ...

‹1923 -› November 14 1925

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