To friends
by Alexander Blok
Hush up, the cursed strings!
A.Maikov
We're enemies, true, to each other
In secret, and greedy, and deaf,
And well we would live, work and farther
Without the enmity dwell!
What's then!? Everybody was trying
To poison his house completely,
The walls're impregnated, you can't
Your tired head lean over pillow.
What's then? Once becoming unhappy,
From laugh we get crazy at all,
And drunken, we look from the street-ways
On houses, being destroyed!
We're traitors in life and in friendship,
We loose our words, vain at last.
What's then!? We are cleaning in that way
The path for our far-future sons!
When under the fence in the nettle
Our bones will turn to be rotten,
The hardworking, but late, historian
Will write up the impressive novel...
But, hell, then the children he'll load,
They all are not guilty at all,
With dates of the births and the death ones,
And with such a nasty bad quote...
That's a bad fate - it is so complex,
So hard is to live in a holiday,
Or to become once a property
Of a critic or a senior lecturer...
Then good will be to lay in the fresh weeds,
To fall asleep, to dream and more!
Hush up, the cursed books! I'm really
Have never you written at all!
24 july 1908