Dedicated to Yuli Kitaevich, my beloved friend, the author of many of my poems
The flesh is fading.
Dust evaporates.
The years have gone
for a slow dinner.
And it's nice to think
what was it anyway
and someone even needed it.
1
HOW IT IS SIMPLE TO TAKE FREEDOM FROM THE PEOPLE: IT SHOULD JUST BE TRUSTED BY THE PEOPLE
* * *
I feel sorry for Marx: his legacy
fell into a Russian font:
here the end justifies the means,
and the means beat the end.
* * *
For the benefit of the hegemonic class,
so that he reigns relentlessly,
at any moment available to shmona
individual hegemon.
* * *
The layer of man in us is a little bit
layered unsteadily and anxiously;
it is easy to return us to the cattle,
it's very hard to get back up.
* * *
Forever we erected a monument
madness, ruin and loss,
by experimenting with blood
brought negative results.
* * *
I am young, in the remnants of snot,
I'm afraid, shaking life like a pear:
in their souls it is dark, as in the ass,
and in the ass - itching to amuse the soul.
* * *
crushing, crushing and crushing,
fear reproduces itself
grows and feeds itself.
* * *
When history bleeds
whistles to souls and powers,
one - a slug crawls into a hole,
the other is swollen with a boa constrictor.
* * *
Good, not rejecting the means of evil,
on them and reaps the results;
in a paradise where resin is applied,
archangels are hoofed and horned.
* * *
When fear swirls pitch
and the barking of chases pierces the darkness,
blessed is anyone who dares
do not blow out the fire in yourself.
* * *
Provided with a common phrase,
hostile to life and nature,
with lack of freedom, scum and evil spirits
freer to become a shepherd.
* * *
Freedom, looking impartially,
then only becomes necessary,
when there is space inside of me
larger than the outer chamber.
* * *
By blood penetrating to the roots,
piercing the air of the sky,
bondage corrupts us more,
than the most dissolute freedom.
* * *
We inherited from our grandfathers today
indifferent shadow of fatigue -
historical fatigue
demonic generation.
* * *
The spirit of the times, though not warlike,
still its bloody surf;
committing suicide,
utopias pull us along.
* * *
Pen and eye holding in union,
I do not eat my bread in vain:
Russia - Gordian bathroom
the most pressing current problems.
* * *
I'm afraid of any trumpet howls,
looking habitually and soberly:
good, bitching in the excitement of the struggle,
glares sharply and briskly.
* * *
I was lucky: I knew the country
the one and only in the world
in your own captivity
in your living apartment.
* * *
Where they lie to themselves and to each other,
and memory does not serve the mind,
history goes around
from blood - through mud - into darkness.
* * *
Blossom terry and stubbornly
fruits of progress seeds:
the snobbery of the plebeian, the swagger of the boor,
shit arrogance.
* * *
In the years of corruption, lies and fear
narrow scope:
forbidden jokes below the groin
and thoughts above dick.
* * *
Not close to history, but familiar,
I see our glory very clearly:
we have become an unquenchable beacon,
shining on a course where it's dangerous.
* * *
Leading parties and classes,
leaders never understood
that the idea thrown to the masses -
this is a girl thrown into the regiment.
* * *
Familiar, silent people,
soundless cocks crow;
we are created for happiness and freedom,
like a fish - for flight and fish soup.
* * *
All social systems
from hierarchy to brotherhood -
knocking foreheads about problems
freedom, equality and fornication.
* * *
Appointed cup on time to drink,
Russia - a lesson and concern to everyone -
crucified like Christ to redeem
the universal mortal sin of reorganization.
* * *
In extreme situations, any
confused, anxious and hot,
calm confidence of the blind
more nightmarish than the confusion of the sighted.
* * *
Whatever the century, we are clearer and more audible
through the anguish of the liberal howl:
there is no more dangerous and there is no more harmful,
than freedom without a guard at all.
* * *
Us book of life is a darkness of strife
separates in every line,
and those who know do not know disputes -
they fuck us one by one.
* * *
In us, the pulse beats at the temple
mental turmoil evil coolness;
there is longing in the Russian spree,
easily inclined to ferocity.
* * *
Close your eyes, close your ears,
counting life for alms,
we break when they don't choke,
savor it as a boon.
* * *
Having sleep, food and work,
fate and power are not crossed,
and we are mercilessly fucked,
for which they then treat for free.
* * *
Roads to Russian bad weather
flowed through faith and fun;
the more collective way to happiness,
the worse the hangover.
* * *
Years of unrighteous persecution
ooze the invisible juice of infection,
and in the spirit of future generations
creeping deaf metastases.
* * *
Personally, I am both servile and cruel,
and as long as it is my nature,
democracy is an artificial flower,
non-living without protection and care.
* * *
Life is easy and fun
though disgustingly unheard of,
when everything is clear in the era
and everything is just as hopeless.
* * *
There is one mysterious theme,
pertaining to our souls:
the crazier the decrepit system,
the more dangerous it is to destroy it at once.
* * *
Comfort and peace grace
the simplest is limited by the limit:
it is dangerous to call black black,
and white is dangerous to call white.
* * *
The fate of the Russian evil spell
we are friends with science today,
smarter and thinner Janissaries
and they wear civilian clothes.
* * *
Russian character is famous in the world,
it is explored everywhere
it is so strangely vast,
that he yearns for a bridle.
* * *
Winter doesn't turn into summer
on the rivers ice drift in the spring is frantic,
and bridges collapse, and remember this
useful for Russian optimists.
* * *
Dreams cherished by the ancestors
fed us before the time,
and it's a pity that only leftovers
of them remain now.
* * *
Life has its own, different shade,
and your sense of life
when the dungeon is involved
in all its manifestations.
* * *
Neither laughter nor sin can do us
turn from the path of the brave,
we build happiness for everyone at once,
and we don't care about anyone.
* * *
Outskirts, provinces of the soul,
where is our abomination, baseness and darkness,
waiting years for the moment. And the descendants
then they wonder how fascism arose.
* * *
I'm afraid that where the darkness is clubbing,
where are the secret springs and entrances,
mass suicidal instinct
waters the roots of the tree of freedom.
* * *
Any can be pestilence porridge
to start with the youth of the Gorlopansky,
which the Second World
already a little confused with the Trojan.
2
AMONG THE INCREDIBLE VICTORIES OF CIVILIZATION WE ARE ALONE AS CARP IN THE SEWER
* * *
Any of us, until he died,
puts itself in pieces
from intelligence, sex, humor
and relationship with the authorities.
* * *
someday, afterwards, later,
but even in the primers they will put a line,
what was done en masse and herd
disentangles each one alone.
* * *
From birth, I am painfully bifurcated,
rushing from extreme to end
my own mother is harmony,
and dissonance is the father.
* * *
Between rumors, fairy tales, myths,
just lies, legends and opinions
we are at enmity hotter than the Scythians
for the dissimilarity of delusions.
* * *
The aging children are swarming
everyone has tragedy and drama,
and I watch these performances
and lonely as Adam's dick.
* * *
I can't go on with this life
and breaking up with her is excruciatingly difficult;
the hardest thing to leave
us from where it is impossible to live.
* * *
In the hearts of someone rude,
awful, probably
once out of your mind
and don't log back in.
* * *
Everyone to himself - deaf doors,
his own criminal and judge,
himself and Mozart, and Salieri,
himself and an acorn, and a pig.
* * *
We have a fondness for words -
not at all a whim and not a mania;
we need words
for lies of mutual understanding.
* * *
Now enjoying, then mourning,
following the path of any
be yourself, not you
put in for another.
* * *
In your image and spirit
The Creator sculpted us, creating the origins,
and we keep like Him
And maybe that's why you're so alone.
* * *
Do not jump with the century on a par,
Be human;
you won't be in hell
together with the age.
* * *
I look without complaining, like in autumn
blew the eyelids on white strands,
and see with the same pleasure
fortune buttocks are ripe.
* * *
Pouring into the earthly time stream
by coincidence,
any one of us is so lonely
that happy from any connections.
* * *
Is it not in vain that knowledge is useless
do we disturb our drowsy spirit?
Those who look into the abyss
she looks too.
* * *
There is much happiness in clear faith
with her heavy load light,
Yes, it's a pity that in a clean atmosphere
unbearable to my heavy lungs.
* * *
Though the excitement is sweet
go on two roads at once,
not with one deck of cards
play with the devil and with God.
* * *
It's not easy to think high
soaring with the soul in the interstellar worlds,
when around at the very side
sniff, gnaw and spoil the air.
* * *
We share time and cash
we share vodka, bread, lodging,
but the more distinct the personality,
the lonely person.
* * *
And vile, and vile, and vile,
and the fear that you will become infected with swine,
and the redneck goes astray
and happily bestial unity.
* * *
None of the closest in captivity
not included in my experiences,
I keep my spiritual calluses
from loving sympathetic galoshes.
* * *
Separations whistle at the door,
I sit at the table lonely,
champagne blood boys
become barrels of beer.
* * *
Cultivating a spirit garden,
grunts humanitarian elite,
tormented by pain for the people
and changes of migraine and colitis.
* * *
With the success of science is inconsistent,
and whining - and try to drown out -
my inoperable ulcer
at the bottom of a non-existent soul.
* * *
This thought is a stolen flower
just a rhyme won't hurt her:
man is not alone!
Someone is always watching him.
* * *
With a soul split like a hoof,
I am alien to both fatherlands -
Jew, where the anti-Semites are chasing,
and Russian, where they sin with Zionanism.
* * *
Closer circle. Less and less meetings.
Losses and separation fly;
there are no others, and those are far away,
and who is weak, goes to bitches.
* * *
The god of technology is different from the god of science;
art god - other than the god of war;
and God of love weakening hands
over them stretches from on high.
* * *
So much to pay
as long as life goes on,
that one should thank fate
for cases where you pay for your own.
* * *
In our jungle, fierce and stone,
I'm not afraid of old villains,
but I fear the innocent and the righteous,
selfless, holy and innocent.
* * *
The sons leave with their tails up,
and daughters languish, sitting at home;
we plant seeds, grow flowers,
and after only the buttocks we see.
* * *
When mediocrity is teeming around,
laying down your cliché on life,
outcast hides elitism,
very useful to the soul.
* * *
I feel sorry for this blue sky,
sorry for the earth and life fragments;
I'm scared that well-fed pigs
scarier than hungry wolves.
* * *
Friends are always a little picky.
And they tend to laugh.
Friends are always a little annoying.
Like fidelity and certainty.
* * *
The Lord has sown us like a vegetable garden,
but in the thickets of plants He grows,
we are divided into many breeds,
partially incompatible.
* * *
I live alone and hunched over
friends have died or are serving,
and where harmony flashed to me,
others will just find their ass.
* * *
With my departure, the seam will stretch,
shredding right across the country
country that will remain
and the one that is in me.
* * *
I suddenly lost the feeling of the elbow
with a crowd of teeming people,
and it's bad for me, like a fly in the ointment
must be bad in a barrel of honey.
* * *
Sitting on a friendly quiet feast,
I thought, shaking off the ashes in a saucer,
how often are losers in life
remain in the centuries after death.
* * *
Where are the passions, where is the rage and horrors,
where the army took up arms against the army,
blessed is he who has courage enough
play the flute quietly.
* * *
It's funny how fiercely it drives us
in the flea market of hubbub and feast
fear of being left behind
in the desert of your own world.
* * *
The discord of fathers with children is a guarantee
those constant changes
in which God is looking for something,
playing generational change.
* * *
Your features, strokes and highlights
in the soul of everyone and everyone,
but incomprehensibly different,
we are alone the same.
* * *
Changing goals and names
changing forms, styles, types, -
as long as the consciousness is warm,
slaves build pyramids.
* * *
It's funny when a man, blooming thickly,
having eaten a pood with native salt power,
suddenly finds sad
it looks like he's been fucked for a long time.
* * *
Blessed is he who cares for his body
I laid down my whole life for the sake of bread,
but the sky is brighter above those
who occasionally looks at the sky.
* * *
The glow of the soul is varied,
invisible, tangible and piercing;
mental illness is contagious
mental health is contagious.
* * *
Leave. And live safely.
And remember. And suffer at night.
The soul froze to this frozen earth,
rooted in this dead soil.
* * *
In everything he sees or hears
finding an excuse for sadness,
bore - something like a roof,
flowing even without rain.
* * *
My friends! Forever tenderly devoted to you,
I am exacted by your generosity of soul;
I hope I won't be betrayed by you
and this debt will not be collected by you.
* * *
It descends on us from above
from a bird's eye view
the happiness of a dream come true,
then a drop of liquid droppings.
* * *
There lived a man in a certain era,
insisted with stubbornness,
she killed a man
and he became her pride.
* * *
There is no more disastrous misfortune in life,
than separation from your favorite turmoil:
a person without a familiar environment
becomes Friday very quickly.
* * *
It's just that our psyche is complex,
no more difficult than before:
hope is more important than opportunity
hope to come true someday.
* * *
We are smart, and you, alas,
what a shame if
ass above head
if the ass is in the chair.
* * *
Call me late at night, friends,
do not be afraid to interfere and wake up;
nightmarishly close hour when it is impossible
and there will be nowhere for us to call.
3
IN THE FIGHT FOR THE PEOPLE'S CAUSE I WAS A FOREIGN BODY
* * *
In the land of slaves forging slavery
among whores who sing whores,
the wise man lives as an anchorite,
keeping dick in the wind at the same time.
* * *
How difficult it is in one sitting,
hesitating even if right
your destiny - foggy text -
read without misreading.
* * *
Wasting myself with verses
and squandering a century like day,
I grab my hands
now an echo, now a smell, now a shadow.
* * *
I look at everything that happens
and I think: it will burn with fire;
but I don't go too crazy
because the kingdom of God is within.
* * *
Living half a century day by day
and wiser from the day of birth,
now I'm light on my feet
just to fall together.
* * *
Handsome, smart, slightly stooped,
full of worldview
yesterday I looked into myself
and left in disgust.
* * *
I stubbornly believed in living life,
in a simple reason and in the wisdom of a joke,
and all high matters
gave away skirts to whores.
* * *
Fat women, chips and lame,
scarecrows, whores and beauties
like parallel lines
intersect in my soul.
* * *
I'm not ashamed to be an ardent skeptic
and in the soul is not light, but darkness;
doubt is the best antiseptic
from mind decay.
* * *
The future - the taste does not spoil me,
I'm too lazy to tremble for the future;
think every day about a black day -
means to make black every day.
* * *
I love my disgust
leading me for a long time:
even to spit at the enemy,
I don't put shit in my mouth.
* * *
I was lucky and lucky
judged and thought enlightenedly,
and not one pretty bra
in front of me he rose rapidly.
* * *
My sky is crystal clear
and full of rainbow pictures
not because the world is beautiful,
but because I am a cretin.
* * *
There is an era in the yard,
and there is a bed in the corner,
and when I feel bad with a woman,
I don't care about the era.
* * *
I keep a loyal line
with the temper of time cool;
it's better to be a corrupt cynic,
than under investigation saints.
* * *
In my youth I waited for joy
from the hustle and bustle,
and turn to old age
into a homosexual.
* * *
I live - you can't imagine better
leaning on my own shoulder,
my own lonely companion,
I don't agree with myself on anything.
* * *
I write not disgustingly, but unevenly;
laziness to work, and idleness angers.
I live amicably with a Jewess,
although at heart he is an anti-Semite.
* * *
That's why I like to lie
and I spit at the ceiling
that I do not want to interfere with fate
shape my destiny.
* * *
All the eternal Jews are sitting in me -
prophets, freethinkers, traders,
and, gesticulating to their heart's content, clamor
in the darkness of an unsettled soul.
* * *
I don't need anything in the world
I do not want honors or glory;
I enjoy my peace
gentle, like in paradise after a raid.
* * *
Until the enema is given
I am alive and quite alive;
goat of my optimism
feeds on tryn-grass.
* * *
From two ends I burn my candle,
not sparing flesh and fire,
so that when I shut up forever,
loved ones got bored without me.
* * *
I'm not fit for heroes -
neither in spirit nor full face;
and only one slightly proud -
that I carry the cross with a dance.
* * *
I am with those who are extreme and furious,
lost interest:
the more aggressive the progressives,
the worse the progress.
* * *
Let the bazaar drive in vain
who sees the target. And I personally
took refuge in a life so private,
that and the person is partially deprived.
* * *
I suddenly realized that I live right,
that is pure and, thank God, gifted,
by the feeling that in a dream and in reality
Thank you for everything that happens.
* * *
This happiness is to build a palace on the sand,
not be afraid of prison and scrip,
indulge in love, indulge in longing,
feast at the epicenter of the plague.
* * *
My mind honestly serves my heart,
always whispering that you're lucky
that things could be much worse
it could still be crap.
* * *
I live without believing in anything,
I burn, not sparing, a crazy candle,
I am silent about the find, I am silent about the loss,
and most of all I am silent about hope.
* * *
I swear by the compote of my childhood
and senile heating pads I swear
that I'm not afraid of anything
by chance if I touch the truth.
* * *
That grow from some point
we stop - a great pity:
I'm maybe only two centimeters
left to sanity.
* * *
In life conflict any
pity without narrowing the eyelids,
hard to watch yourself
think well of a person.
* * *
I don't believe the lies
about the light in the misty darkness.
I despaired. And therefore
became a desperate optimist.
* * *
At all the crossroads that passed,
held, wishing me happiness,
steel embrace of the motherland
and my neck and wrists.
* * *
On the tree of your genealogy
looking for my character in my ancestors,
I guess sadly that many
swing in a loop on these branches.
* * *
Tends to touch everything with the eye
my mind is shallow, but clear,
except in politics never
I did not fit deeper than the sole.
* * *
In everything with everyone on an equal footing,
like a drop in the dew
in only one was different than all, -
I couldn't live in shit.
* * *
Any royal lot is possible,
enough courage to get used to the role,
where destroyed - better than insignificant,
humiliated - like a deposed king.
* * *
For the fact that laughter prevails in me
over the mind in the midst of life battles,
fortune rewards me generously
back of their medals.
* * *
Closed, light and carefree
I am in my own smoke;
bound by a common chain by chance,
I am only a neighbor in my lifetime.
* * *
In this strange hellishness -
how do i live? What do I breathe?
Noise and boor reign in space,
noisy boor and boorish noise.
* * *
Someday I'll be famous
for me they will christen a brand of cigarettes,
and find out the anti-Semitic linguist,
that I was a Baltic Eskimo.
* * *
I didn't come into this life
to enter the senate on a horse,
I'm already completely satisfied
that no one is jealous of me.
* * *
By no means was I a mannequin
however, he was not in the ballet either;
I'm the nobody who was nobody
and was very pleased with it.
* * *
I have a dream, take care
I will be her fortress infusion:
when the books will be burned again,
let my fire be honored.
* * *
That I became a proletarian - I'm proud;
without fatigue, without rest, without falsehood
I try, I strain and I work,
like a young lieutenant - on a general.
* * *
In the midst of the noisy desert of life,
where is passion, and ambition, and struggle,
I have enough pride
to endure humility.
* * *
What is my ideal reader like?
I see it clearly:
he is a skeptic, a loser and a dreamer,
and it is a pity that he does not read anything.
* * *
The Lord is playing with me deftly,
and I - over him a little joke,
I like my rope
Here I am kicking my feet.
* * *
All my youth I loved trains,
so that hour is unknown to me,
when my lucky star
went up and did not find me in the place.
* * *
Prison was not heaven at all
but I often thought, smoking,
that, as you know, God is not a fraer,
which means I'm not sitting in vain.
* * *
To many things that time is dirty,
darkness of events, vile and vile,
I easily find the seed
in their own thoughts and feelings.
* * *
Fornication of the world reconstructions
and delirium of fusion in ecstasy -
have many common properties
with a tornado flush in the toilet.
* * *
The era is proud of me for morality,
so that everyone knows about it everywhere,
write my name forever
in the cloud, in the wind, in the rain.
* * *
Where will the soul be taken after death,
I do not bargain with God;
in paradise the climate is much milder,
but better society in hell.
Dedicated to Yuli Kitaevich, my beloved friend, the author of many of my poems
The flesh is fading.
Dust evaporates.
The years have gone
for a slow dinner.
And it's nice to think
what was it anyway
and someone even needed it.
HOW IT IS SIMPLE TO TAKE FREEDOM FROM THE PEOPLE: IT SHOULD JUST BE TRUSTED BY THE PEOPLE
I feel sorry for Marx: his legacy
fell into a Russian font:
here the end justifies the means,
and the means beat the end.
For the benefit of the hegemonic class,
so that he reigns relentlessly,
at any moment available to shmona
individual hegemon.
The layer of man in us is a little bit
layered unsteadily and anxiously;
it is easy to return us to the cattle,
it's very hard to get back up.
Forever we erected a monument
madness, ruin and loss,
by experimenting with blood
brought negative results.
I am young, in the remnants of snot,
I'm afraid, shaking life like a pear:
in their souls it is dark, as in the ass,
and in the ass - itching to amuse the soul.
crushing, crushing and crushing,
fear reproduces itself
grows and feeds itself.
When history bleeds
whistles to souls and powers,
one - a slug crawls into a hole,
the other is swollen with a boa constrictor.
Good, not rejecting the means of evil,
on them and reaps the results;
in a paradise where resin is applied,
archangels are hoofed and horned.
When fear swirls pitch
and the barking of chases pierces the darkness,
blessed is anyone who dares
do not blow out the fire in yourself.
Provided with a common phrase,
hostile to life and nature,
with lack of freedom, scum and evil spirits
freer to become a shepherd.
Freedom, looking impartially,
then only becomes necessary,
when there is space inside of me
larger than the outer chamber.
By blood penetrating to the roots,
piercing the air of the sky,
bondage corrupts us more,
than the most dissolute freedom.
We inherited from our grandfathers today
indifferent shadow of fatigue -
historical fatigue
demonic generation.
The spirit of the times, though not warlike,
still its bloody surf;
committing suicide,
utopias pull us along.
Pen and eye holding in union,
I do not eat my bread in vain:
Russia - Gordian bathroom
the most pressing current problems.
I'm afraid of any trumpet howls,
looking habitually and soberly:
good, bitching in the excitement of the struggle,
glares sharply and briskly.
I was lucky: I knew the country
the one and only in the world
in your own captivity
in your living apartment.
Where they lie to themselves and to each other,
and memory does not serve the mind,
history goes around
from blood - through mud - into darkness.
Blossom terry and stubbornly
fruits of progress seeds:
the snobbery of the plebeian, the swagger of the boor,
shit arrogance.
In the years of corruption, lies and fear
narrow scope:
forbidden jokes below the groin
and thoughts above dick.
Not close to history, but familiar,
I see our glory very clearly:
we have become an unquenchable beacon,
shining on a course where it's dangerous.
Leading parties and classes,
leaders never understood
that the idea thrown to the masses -
this is a girl thrown into the regiment.
Familiar, silent people,
soundless cocks crow;
we are created for happiness and freedom,
like a fish - for flight and fish soup.
All social systems
from hierarchy to brotherhood -
knocking foreheads about problems
freedom, equality and fornication.
Appointed cup on time to drink,
Russia - a lesson and concern to everyone -
crucified like Christ to redeem
the universal mortal sin of reorganization.
In extreme situations, any
confused, anxious and hot,
calm confidence of the blind
more nightmarish than the confusion of the sighted.
Whatever the century, we are clearer and more audible
through the anguish of the liberal howl:
there is no more dangerous and there is no more harmful,
than freedom without a guard at all.
Us book of life is a darkness of strife
separates in every line,
and those who know do not know disputes -
they fuck us one by one.
In us, the pulse beats at the temple
mental turmoil evil coolness;
there is longing in the Russian spree,
easily inclined to ferocity.
Close your eyes, close your ears,
counting life for alms,
we break when they don't choke,
savor it as a boon.
Having sleep, food and work,
fate and power are not crossed,
and we are mercilessly fucked,
for which they then treat for free.
Roads to Russian bad weather
flowed through faith and fun;
the more collective way to happiness,
the worse the hangover.
Years of unrighteous persecution
ooze the invisible juice of infection,
and in the spirit of future generations
creeping deaf metastases.
Personally, I am both servile and cruel,
and as long as it is my nature,
democracy is an artificial flower,
non-living without protection and care.
Life is easy and fun
though disgustingly unheard of,
when everything is clear in the era
and everything is just as hopeless.
There is one mysterious theme,
pertaining to our souls:
the crazier the decrepit system,
the more dangerous it is to destroy it at once.
Comfort and peace grace
the simplest is limited by the limit:
it is dangerous to call black black,
and white is dangerous to call white.
The fate of the Russian evil spell
we are friends with science today,
smarter and thinner Janissaries
and they wear civilian clothes.
Russian character is famous in the world,
it is explored everywhere
it is so strangely vast,
that he yearns for a bridle.
Winter doesn't turn into summer
on the rivers ice drift in the spring is frantic,
and bridges collapse, and remember this
useful for Russian optimists.
Dreams cherished by the ancestors
fed us before the time,
and it's a pity that only leftovers
of them remain now.
Life has its own, different shade,
and your sense of life
when the dungeon is involved
in all its manifestations.
Neither laughter nor sin can do us
turn from the path of the brave,
Though the excitement is sweet
On two roads at once,
It is impossible with one deck of cards
Play with the devil and with God.
Alas, but to improve the budget
It is impossible without soiling the cuffs.
Who understood the meaning and sense in life,
Long closed and silent.
All, of course, we are brothers in mind,
Just something very different.
In human activity seething
I often feel sad
The stubbornness of a sitting hen
On eggs, rotten initially.
Anything with genuine fire
I defend in a steep dispute,
For only by insisting on his own,
I understand that I was not on that.
The language of lies is elastic and flexible,
And in thoughts strictly impeccable,
And in the speech of truth - the darkness of errors
And the syllable is crippled with dissonance.
It suddenly becomes chilly and foul,
And the feeling is that I have nowhere to go,
It's easy to stand by your convictions
Much harder to sit behind them.
A lot of things in the world seeing
In the life of different cities and villages,
I have not met anything in the world
Cunning and persistent than laziness.
All controversy flared up again
And flow again, boiling in vain;
Russia cannot be understood with the mind,
And what to understand - again it is not clear.
With folk wisdom in harmony
And my sure sad mind
What, no matter how my hole in the ass,
It won't become an eye.
I stand again with slumped shoulders
Without averting frozen eyes:
How death tastes impeccable
In the selection of the best among us.
To survive and live in this world,
Until the earth is off its axis,
Keep yourself on the triple taboo:
Don't be afraid, don't hope, don't ask.
Good is dull and boring,
And a lean look, and walks sideways,
And evil is plentiful and bizarre,
With taste, smell and juice.
Live and sing. There is no need to hurry.
Natural fine mechanism:
Any evil - with its own poison
Poisons his body.
Life's highest treasure
The spirit of unrelenting doubt
The lowly is closer to immutability,
God is the constancy of change.
On your own hump and on someone else's
I have adopted a simple concept:
It makes no sense to go to the tank with a knife,
But if you really want it, then it's worth it.
All my life I am ready to crush stones,
While the family is fit to feed;
I don't need freedom at all
But you need to know that I'm free.
Dead ends are useful for creativity:
Pain and impotence burn
Reason and fear contrary
The soul is forced to jump.
Only in the frozen quagmire up to the neck,
On the fragility of a shaky bottom,
In the everyday life of disasters, anxieties and hardships
The feeling of happiness is given in full.
Finding an excuse for dialogue
How did you make this broth? -
I ask God politely.
“Drinking,” he says sadly.
Our creative idea
Inseparable from the breath of retribution;
Create fire - Prometheus,
They use fire - herostrats.
Care about life after the grave
Doesn't bother me at all;
Pouring into something eternal,
It won't be me anymore.
No matter how evil and beastliness triumph,
And hopes are warm, stubborn:
The world will save the holy trinity
Image, harmony and form.
Two meanings in life - internal and external,
At the outside - business, family, success;
And the inner - obscure and unearthly -
Everyone is responsible for everyone.
Igor Guberman
Dedicated to Yuli Kitaevich, my beloved friend, the author of many of my poems
The flesh is fading.
Dust evaporates.
The years have gone
for a slow dinner.
And it's nice to think
what was it anyway
and someone even needed it.
1
HOW IT IS SIMPLE TO TAKE FREEDOM FROM THE PEOPLE: IT SHOULD JUST BE TRUSTED BY THE PEOPLE
* * *
I feel sorry for Marx: his legacy
fell into a Russian font:
here the end justifies the means,
and the means beat the end.
* * *
For the benefit of the hegemonic class,
so that he reigns relentlessly,
at any moment available to shmona
individual hegemon.
* * *
The layer of man in us is a little bit
layered unsteadily and anxiously;
it is easy to return us to the cattle,
it's very hard to get back up.
* * *
Forever we erected a monument
madness, ruin and loss,
by experimenting with blood
brought negative results.
* * *
I am young, in the remnants of snot,
I'm afraid, shaking life like a pear:
in their souls it is dark, as in the ass,
and in the ass - itching to amuse the soul.
* * *
crushing, crushing and crushing,
fear reproduces itself
grows and feeds itself.
* * *
When history bleeds
whistles to souls and powers,
one - a slug crawls into a hole,
the other is swollen with a boa constrictor.
* * *
Good, not rejecting the means of evil,
on them and reaps the results;
in a paradise where resin is applied,
archangels are hoofed and horned.
* * *
When fear swirls pitch
and the barking of chases pierces the darkness,
blessed is anyone who dares
do not blow out the fire in yourself.
* * *
Provided with a common phrase,
hostile to life and nature,
with lack of freedom, scum and evil spirits
freer to become a shepherd.
* * *
Freedom, looking impartially,
then only becomes necessary,
when there is space inside of me
larger than the outer chamber.
* * *
By blood penetrating to the roots,
piercing the air of the sky,
bondage corrupts us more,
than the most dissolute freedom.
* * *
We inherited from our grandfathers today
indifferent shadow of fatigue -
historical fatigue
demonic generation.
* * *
The spirit of the times, though not warlike,
still its bloody surf;
committing suicide,
utopias pull us along.
* * *
Pen and eye holding in union,
I do not eat my bread in vain:
Russia - Gordian bathroom
the most pressing current problems.
* * *
I'm afraid of any trumpet howls,
looking habitually and soberly:
good, bitching in the excitement of the struggle,
glares sharply and briskly.
* * *
I was lucky: I knew the country
the one and only in the world
in your own captivity
in your living apartment.
* * *
Where they lie to themselves and to each other,
and memory does not serve the mind,
history goes around
from blood - through mud - into darkness.
* * *
Blossom terry and stubbornly
fruits of progress seeds:
the snobbery of the plebeian, the swagger of the boor,
shit arrogance.
* * *
In the years of corruption, lies and fear
narrow scope:
forbidden jokes below the groin
and thoughts above dick.
* * *
Not close to history, but familiar,
I see our glory very clearly:
we have become an unquenchable beacon,
shining on a course where it's dangerous.
* * *
Leading parties and classes,
leaders never understood
that the idea thrown to the masses -
this is a girl thrown into the regiment.
* * *
Familiar, silent people,
soundless cocks crow;
we are created for happiness and freedom,
like a fish - for flight and fish soup.
* * *
All social systems
from hierarchy to brotherhood -
knocking foreheads about problems
freedom, equality and fornication.
* * *
Appointed cup on time to drink,
Russia - a lesson and concern to everyone -
crucified like Christ to redeem
the universal mortal sin of reorganization.
* * *
In extreme situations, any
confused, anxious and hot,
calm confidence of the blind
more nightmarish than the confusion of the sighted.
* * *
Whatever the century, we are clearer and more audible
through the anguish of the liberal howl:
there is no more dangerous and there is no more harmful,
than freedom without a guard at all.
* * *
Us book of life is a darkness of strife
separates in every line,
and those who know do not know disputes -
they fuck us one by one.
* * *
In us, the pulse beats at the temple
mental turmoil evil coolness;
there is longing in the Russian spree,
easily inclined to ferocity.
* * *
Close your eyes, close your ears,
counting life for alms,
we break when they don't choke,
savor it as a boon.
* * *
Having sleep, food and work,
fate and power are not crossed,
and we are mercilessly fucked,
for which they then treat for free.
* * *
Roads to Russian bad weather
flowed through faith and fun;
the more collective way to happiness,
the worse the hangover.
* * *
Years of unrighteous persecution
ooze the invisible juice of infection,
and in the spirit of future generations
creeping deaf metastases.
* * *
Personally, I am both servile and cruel,
and as long as it is my nature,
democracy is an artificial flower,
non-living without protection and care.
* * *
Life is easy and fun
though disgustingly unheard of,
when everything is clear in the era
and everything is just as hopeless.
* * *
There is one mysterious theme,
pertaining to our souls:
the crazier the decrepit system,
the more dangerous it is to destroy it at once.
* * *
Comfort and peace grace
the simplest is limited by the limit:
it is dangerous to call black black,
and white is dangerous to call white.
* * *
The fate of the Russian evil spell
we are friends with science today,
smarter and thinner Janissaries
and they wear civilian clothes.
* * *
Russian character is famous in the world,
it is explored everywhere
it is so strangely vast,
that he yearns for a bridle.
* * *
Winter doesn't turn into summer
on the rivers ice drift in the spring is frantic,
and bridges collapse, and remember this
useful for Russian optimists.
* * *
Dreams cherished by the ancestors
fed us before the time,
and it's a pity that only leftovers
of them remain now.
* * *
Life has its own, different shade,
and your sense of life
when the dungeon is involved
in all its manifestations.
* * *
Neither laughter nor sin can do us
turn from the path of the brave,
we build happiness for everyone at once,
and we don't care about anyone.
* * *
Outskirts, provinces of the soul,
where is our abomination, baseness and darkness,
waiting years for the moment.
And the descendants
then they wonder how fascism arose.
* * *
I'm afraid that where the darkness is clubbing,
where are the secret springs and entrances,
mass suicidal instinct
waters the roots of the tree of freedom.
* * *
Any can be pestilence porridge
to start with the youth of the Gorlopansky,
which the Second World
already a little confused with the Trojan.
2
AMONG THE INCREDIBLE VICTORIES OF CIVILIZATION WE ARE ALONE AS CARP IN THE SEWER
* * *
Any of us, until he died,
puts itself in pieces
from intelligence, sex, humor
and relationship with the authorities.
* * *
someday, afterwards, later,
but even in the primers they will put a line,
what was done en masse and herd
disentangles each one alone.
* * *
From birth, I am painfully bifurcated,
rushing from extreme to end
my own mother is harmony,
and dissonance is the father.
* * *
Between rumors, fairy tales, myths,
just lies, legends and opinions
we are at enmity hotter than the Scythians
for the dissimilarity of delusions.
* * *
The aging children are swarming
everyone has tragedy and drama,
and I watch these performances
and lonely as Adam's dick.
* * *
I can't go on with this life
and breaking up with her is excruciatingly difficult;
the hardest thing to leave
us from where it is impossible to live.
* * *
In the hearts of someone rude,
awful, probably
once out of your mind
and don't log back in.
* * *
Everyone to himself - deaf doors,
his own criminal and judge,
himself and Mozart, and Salieri,
himself and an acorn, and a pig.
* * *
We have a fondness for words -
not at all a whim and not a mania;
we need words
for lies of mutual understanding.
* * *
Now enjoying, then mourning,
following the path of any
be yourself, not you
put in for another.
* * *
In your image and spirit
The Creator sculpted us, creating the origins,
and we keep like Him
And maybe that's why you're so alone.
* * *
Do not jump with the century on a par,
Be human;
you won't be in hell
together with the age.
* * *
I look without complaining, like in autumn
blew the eyelids on white strands,
and see with the same pleasure
fortune buttocks are ripe.
* * *
Pouring into the earthly time stream
by coincidence,
any one of us is so lonely
that happy from any connections.
* * *
Is it not in vain that knowledge is useless
do we disturb our drowsy spirit?
Those who look into the abyss
she looks too.
* * *
There is much happiness in clear faith
with her heavy load light,
Yes, it's a pity that in a clean atmosphere
unbearable to my heavy lungs.
* * *
Though the excitement is sweet
go on two roads at once,
not with one deck of cards
play with the devil and with God.
* * *
It's not easy to think high
soaring with the soul in the interstellar worlds,
when around at the very side
sniff, gnaw and spoil the air.
* * *
We share time and cash
we share vodka, bread, lodging,
but the more distinct the personality,
the lonely person.
* * *
And vile, and vile, and vile,
and the fear that you will become infected with swine,
and the redneck goes astray
and happily bestial unity.
* * *
None of the closest in captivity
not included in my experiences,
I keep my spiritual calluses
from loving sympathetic galoshes.
* * *
Separations whistle at the door,
I sit at the table lonely,
champagne blood boys
become barrels of beer.
* * *
Cultivating a spirit garden,
grunts humanitarian elite,
tormented by pain for the people
and changes of migraine and colitis.
* * *
With the success of science is inconsistent,
and whining - and try to drown out -
my inoperable ulcer
at the bottom of a non-existent soul.
* * *
This thought is a stolen flower
just a rhyme won't hurt her:
man is not alone!
Someone is always watching him.
* * *
With a soul split like a hoof,
I am alien to both fatherlands -
Jew, where the anti-Semites are chasing,
and Russian, where they sin with Zionanism.
* * *
Closer circle. Less and less meetings.
Losses and separation fly;
there are no others, and those are far away,
and who is weak, goes to bitches.
* * *
The god of technology is different from the god of science;
art god - other than the god of war;
and God of love weakening hands
over them stretches from on high.
* * *
So much to pay
as long as life goes on,
that one should thank fate
for cases where you pay for your own.
* * *
In our jungle, fierce and stone,
I'm not afraid of old villains,
but I fear the innocent and the righteous,
selfless, holy and innocent.
* * *
The sons leave with their tails up,
and daughters languish, sitting at home;
we plant seeds, grow flowers,
and after only the buttocks we see.
* * *
When mediocrity is teeming around,
laying down your cliché on life,
outcast hides elitism,
very useful to the soul.
* * *
I feel sorry for this blue sky,
sorry for the earth and life fragments;
I'm scared that well-fed pigs
scarier than hungry wolves.
* * *
Friends are always a little picky.
And they tend to laugh.
Friends are always a little annoying.
Like fidelity and certainty.
* * *
The Lord has sown us like a vegetable garden,
but in the thickets of plants He grows,
we are divided into many breeds,
partially incompatible.
* * *
I live alone and hunched over
friends have died or are serving,
and where harmony flashed to me,
others will just find their ass.
* * *
With my departure, the seam will stretch,
shredding right across the country
country that will remain
and the one that is in me.
* * *
I suddenly lost the feeling of the elbow
with a crowd of teeming people,
and it's bad for me, like a fly in the ointment
must be bad in a barrel of honey.
* * *
Sitting on a friendly quiet feast,
I thought, shaking off the ashes in a saucer,
how often are losers in life
remain in the centuries after death.
* * *
Where are the passions, where is the rage and horrors,
where the army took up arms against the army,
blessed is he who has courage enough
play the flute quietly.
* * *
It's funny how fiercely it drives us
in the flea market of hubbub and feast
fear of being left behind
in the desert of your own world.
* * *
The discord of fathers with children is a guarantee
those constant changes
in which God is looking for something,
playing generational change.
* * *
Your features, strokes and highlights
in the soul of everyone and everyone,
but incomprehensibly different,
we are alone the same.
* * *
Changing goals and names
changing forms, styles, types, -
as long as the consciousness is warm,
slaves build pyramids.
* * *
It's funny when a man, blooming thickly,
having eaten a pood with native salt power,
suddenly finds sad
it looks like he's been fucked for a long time.
* * *
Blessed is he who cares for his body
I laid down my whole life for the sake of bread,
but the sky is brighter above those
who occasionally looks at the sky.
* * *
The glow of the soul is varied,
invisible, tangible and piercing;
mental illness is contagious
mental health is contagious.
* * *
Leave. And live safely.
And remember. And suffer at night.
The soul froze to this frozen earth,
rooted in this dead soil.
* * *
In everything he sees or hears
finding an excuse for sadness,
bore - something like a roof,
flowing even without rain.
* * *
My friends! Forever tenderly devoted to you,
I am exacted by your generosity of soul;
I hope I won't be betrayed by you
and this debt will not be collected by you.
* * *
It descends on us from above
from a bird's eye view
the happiness of a dream come true,
then a drop of liquid droppings.
* * *
There lived a man in a certain era,
insisted with stubbornness,
she killed a man
and he became her pride.
* * *
There is no more disastrous misfortune in life,
than separation from your favorite turmoil:
a person without a familiar environment
becomes Friday very quickly.
* * *
It's just that our psyche is complex,
no more difficult than before:
hope is more important than opportunity
hope to come true someday.
* * *
We are smart, and you, alas,
what a shame if
ass above head
if the ass is in the chair.
* * *
Call me late at night, friends,
do not be afraid to interfere and wake up;
nightmarishly close hour when it is impossible
and there will be nowhere for us to call.
3
IN THE FIGHT FOR THE PEOPLE'S CAUSE I WAS A FOREIGN BODY
* * *
In the land of slaves forging slavery
among whores who sing whores,
the wise man lives as an anchorite,
keeping dick in the wind at the same time.
* * *
How difficult it is in one sitting,
hesitating even if right
your destiny - foggy text -
read without misreading.
* * *
Wasting myself with verses
and squandering a century like day,
I grab my hands
now an echo, now a smell, now a shadow.
* * *
I look at everything that happens
and I think: it will burn with fire;
but I don't go too crazy
because the kingdom of God is within.
* * *
Living half a century day by day
and wiser from the day of birth,
now I'm light on my feet
just to fall together.
* * *
Handsome, smart, slightly stooped,
full of worldview
yesterday I looked into myself
and left in disgust.
* * *
I stubbornly believed in living life,
in a simple reason and in the wisdom of a joke,
and all high matters
gave away skirts to whores.
* * *
Fat women, chips and lame,
scarecrows, whores and beauties
like parallel lines
intersect in my soul.
* * *
I'm not ashamed to be an ardent skeptic
and in the soul is not light, but darkness;
doubt is the best antiseptic
from mind decay.
* * *
The future - the taste does not spoil me,
I'm too lazy to tremble for the future;
think every day about a black day -
means to make black every day.
* * *
I love my disgust
leading me for a long time:
even to spit at the enemy,
I don't put shit in my mouth.
* * *
I was lucky and lucky
judged and thought enlightenedly,
and not one pretty bra
in front of me he rose rapidly.
* * *
My sky is crystal clear
and full of rainbow pictures
not because the world is beautiful,
but because I am a cretin.
* * *
There is an era in the yard,
and there is a bed in the corner,
and when I feel bad with a woman,
I don't care about the era.
* * *
I keep a loyal line
with the temper of time cool;
it's better to be a corrupt cynic,
than under investigation saints.
* * *
In my youth I waited for joy
from the hustle and bustle,
and turn to old age
into a homosexual.
* * *
I live - you can't imagine better
leaning on my own shoulder,
my own lonely companion,
I don't agree with myself on anything.
* * *
I write not disgustingly, but unevenly;
laziness to work, and idleness angers.
I live amicably with a Jewess,
although at heart he is an anti-Semite.
* * *
That's why I like to lie
and I spit at the ceiling
that I do not want to interfere with fate
shape my destiny.
* * *
All the eternal Jews are sitting in me -
prophets, freethinkers, traders,
and, gesticulating to their heart's content, clamor
in the darkness of an unsettled soul.
* * *
I don't need anything in the world
I do not want honors or glory;
I enjoy my peace
gentle, like in paradise after a raid.
* * *
Until the enema is given
I am alive and quite alive;
goat of my optimism
feeds on tryn-grass.
* * *
From two ends I burn my candle,
not sparing flesh and fire,
so that when I shut up forever,
loved ones got bored without me.
* * *
I'm not fit for heroes -
neither in spirit nor full face;
and only one slightly proud -
that I carry the cross with a dance.
* * *
I am with those who are extreme and furious,
lost interest:
the more aggressive the progressives,
the worse the progress.
* * *
Let the bazaar drive in vain
who sees the target. And I personally
took refuge in a life so private,
that and the person is partially deprived.
* * *
I suddenly realized that I live right,
that is pure and, thank God, gifted,
by the feeling that in a dream and in reality
Thank you for everything that happens.
* * *
This happiness is to build a palace on the sand,
not be afraid of prison and scrip,
indulge in love, indulge in longing,
feast at the epicenter of the plague.
* * *
My mind honestly serves my heart,
always whispering that you're lucky
that things could be much worse
it could still be crap.
* * *
I live without believing in anything,
I burn, not sparing, a crazy candle,
I am silent about the find, I am silent about the loss,
and most of all I am silent about hope.
* * *
I swear by the compote of my childhood
and senile heating pads I swear
that I'm not afraid of anything
by chance if I touch the truth.
* * *
That grow from some point
we stop - a great pity:
I'm maybe only two centimeters
left to sanity.
* * *
In life conflict any
pity without narrowing the eyelids,
hard to watch yourself
think well of a person.
* * *
I don't believe the lies
about the light in the misty darkness.
I despaired. And therefore
became a desperate optimist.
* * *
At all the crossroads that passed,
held, wishing me happiness,
steel embrace of the motherland
and my neck and wrists.
* * *
On the tree of your genealogy
looking for my character in my ancestors,
I guess sadly that many
swing in a loop on these branches.
* * *
Tends to touch everything with the eye
my mind is shallow, but clear,
except in politics never
I did not fit deeper than the sole.
* * *
In everything with everyone on an equal footing,
like a drop in the dew
in only one was different than all, -
I couldn't live in shit.
* * *
Any royal lot is possible,
enough courage to get used to the role,
where destroyed - better than insignificant,
humiliated - like a deposed king.
* * *
For the fact that laughter prevails in me
over the mind in the midst of life battles,
fortune rewards me generously
back of their medals.
* * *
Closed, light and carefree
I am in my own smoke;
bound by a common chain by chance,
I am only a neighbor in my lifetime.
* * *
In this strange hellishness -
how do i live? What do I breathe?
Noise and boor reign in space,
noisy boor and boorish noise.
* * *
Someday I'll be famous
for me they will christen a brand of cigarettes,
and find out the anti-Semitic linguist,
that I was a Baltic Eskimo.
* * *
I didn't come into this life
to enter the senate on a horse,
I'm already completely satisfied
that no one is jealous of me.
* * *
By no means was I a mannequin
however, he was not in the ballet either;
I'm the nobody who was nobody
and was very pleased with it.
* * *
I have a dream, take care
I will be her fortress infusion:
when the books will be burned again,
let my fire be honored.
* * *
That I became a proletarian - I'm proud;
without fatigue, without rest, without falsehood
I try, I strain and I work,
like a young lieutenant - on a general.
* * *
In the midst of the noisy desert of life,
where is passion, and ambition, and struggle,
I have enough pride
to endure humility.
* * *
What is my ideal reader like?
I see it clearly:
he is a skeptic, a loser and a dreamer,
and it is a pity that he does not read anything.
* * *
The Lord is playing with me deftly,
and I - over him a little joke,
I like my rope
Here I am kicking my feet.
* * *
All my youth I loved trains,
so that hour is unknown to me,
when my lucky star
went up and did not find me in the place.
* * *
Prison was not heaven at all
but I often thought, smoking,
that, as you know, God is not a fraer,
which means I'm not sitting in vain.
* * *
To many things that time is dirty,
darkness of events, vile and vile,
I easily find the seed
in their own thoughts and feelings.
* * *
Fornication of the world reconstructions
and delirium of fusion in ecstasy -
have many common properties
with a tornado flush in the toilet.
* * *
The era is proud of me for morality,
so that everyone knows about it everywhere,
write my name forever
in the cloud, in the wind, in the rain.
* * *
Where will the soul be taken after death,
I do not bargain with God;
in paradise the climate is much milder,
but better society in hell.
4
FAMILY FROM GOD IS GIVEN TO US, A REPLACEMENT TO HAPPINESS SHE
* * *
A woman is glorious from the century
everything that makes a family beautiful;
woman is man's friend
even when he's a pig.
* * *
The jailer is efficient and sensible,
life locks us up for a long time,
closing soft shackles
love, habit and duty.
* * *
A man is a boor, a bore, a despot,
tormentor, miser and dumbass;
to make it known to us
we should just get married.
* * *
The Creator gave a woman's face
ability to transform:
first we introduce a sheep into the house,
and then we endure from the she-wolf.
* * *
After eating poods of joint porridge
and gave years to the struggle,
all the good things in our women
we owe ourselves.
* * *
Not the fate of the coming cloud,
not a quagmire of low everyday life,
hurts us the most
the closeness of our loved ones.
* * *
Do I roam the street noise
I eat porridge or wash on Saturdays
I ponder thoughtfully:
Why do they think I'm an idiot?
* * *
I lived as a bachelor for a long time,
and my life was pretty empty,
although he had one trifle:
freedom of smell, color and taste.
* * *
Family is the most reliable blessing,
boat in everyday bad weather,
and only moisture is comparable to it,
with which happiness is easier.
* * *
Don't scold me, friend
get away from the hustle and bustle
everyone eats each other
and me, and you.
* * *
In order not to let the family fade away,
a wife was sent to us by God,
and in women of strangers on a spoonful of honey
pours cunning Satan.
* * *
Children are nailed to the family,
we protect the peace of the spouse;
nothing is worth the tears of a wife,
except for the hug of a friend.
* * *
my happy face
won't spill anything;
I wear a ring on my finger
and with my neck I feel it.
* * *
To the fact that there is a crack in the family,
there is only one reason:
a woman awakened in the wife,
a man fell asleep in her husband.
* * *
Started a family. Children were born.
Wandering in search of coins.
It is impossible to live without women in the world,
