Цитата:
Сообщение от Cyril Syzransky
"I love to watch children die"?
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"I" - one of the best poems of Mayakovsky! It you do not like?
I
Vladimir Mayakovsky
The pavement
my soul izezzhennoy
steps insane
weave stiff sentences heel.
Where city
hanged
and in the loop cloud
frozen
towers
curves of the neck --
go
a sob
that junction
crucified
policemen.
A few words about my wife
Morey unknown faraway beach
is the moon --
my wife.
My mistress redhead.
The crew
blatantly stretches crowd constellations pestropolosaya.
Crowned a garage,
kisses newspaper kiosks,
a plume of the Milky Way blinking pazhem
decorated tawdry glitter.
I?
Flying the same palimomu, eyebrows rocker
from the eyes of the frozen wells buckets.
In the lake you hung silks,
Amber violin sang thigh?
In regions where anger roofs,
not kinesh shiny Lesnie.
In the boulevards I'm drowning, nostalgia sand is covered:
Well it's your daughter --
my song
stockinged lace
a coffee!
A few words about my mother
I have a mom in cornflower blue walls.
And I walk in colorful pavah,
shaggy daisies, measuring the step, muchu.
Sparkle evening on oboe rusty,
come to the window,
believing
I would see again
operate a
home
cloud.
And my mother sick
People run through the rustling
from the bed to the corner of an empty.
Mama knows --
a crazy idea mounds
crawl out over the roofs of the plant Pasha.
And when my forehead, crowned felt hat,
bloody fading frame,
I say
apart bass wind howling:
"Mom.
If you will be sorry for me
vase of your meal
shot down heels cloud dance --
who izlaskaet golden hands,
sign cocked at showcases d'Avanzi? .. "
A few words about myself
I love to watch children die.
You surf laughter misty shaft notice
longing for the trunk?
I --
streets in the Reading Room
so frequently turned over the coffin that.
Midnight
dripping fingers poked
me
and scored by a fence
and with drops of rain on the dome of his bald head
galloping crazy Cathedral.
I see the Christ of the icons of running,
chiton ovetrenny Region
kissing, crying, slush.
Scream brick
words frenzied dirk
in the swollen flesh of the sky:
"The sun!
My father
Take pity though you do not torture me!
That you spilled my blood flowing the way Dolny.
This is my soul
shreds of torn clouds
scorched in the sky
to cross a rusty bell!
Time!
Although you lame Bogomaz,
face namalyuy my
in shrine freak century!
I am alone, as the last eye
by going to the blind man! "