disappearing Russia

We do not realize there is still much,
Pets Leninist victory,
And new songs
Under the old sing,
As we were taught grandmothers and grandfathers.

Friends! Friends!
What is a split in the country,
What sadness in boiling merry!
Know, because so want to and I,
his pants,
Run after the Komsomol.

I'm leaving in sadness do not blame,
Well, where are the elderly
For boys chase?
They uncompressed rye on the vine
Were rot and crumble.

And I, I myself -
not young, not old,
For the time manure is doomed.
Not because l Kabatsky ringing guitars
I evokes sweet dream?

nice guitar,
link, link!
Play, gypsy, something is,
That I forgot poisoned days,
Not knowing any affection, or peace.

I blame the Soviet power,
And because I'm at it offended,
That the light of my youth
In the fight against the other I have not seen.

What I saw?
I only saw the battle
To instead song
I heard the cannonade.
Is it because with a yellow head
I ran across the planet to fall?

But all I'm happy.
In the assembly of storms
I made a unique impression.
Whirlwind decked my destiny
In the golden-blossoming.

I am not a new!
Something to hide?
I was in the past one foot,
Aiming steel catch host,
I slip and fall into each.

But there are other people.
they
Another unfortunate and Forgotten,
They, how to decide otruby,
Amid the confusing them events.

I know them
and spied:
Eyes sad cow.
Amid a human peace affairs,
How pond, moldy their blood.

Who throws a stone in the pond?
Do not touch!
It will smell the stench.
They themselves will die,
Ystleyut Padiès November.

And there are other people,
they, they believe,
That pull into the future timid glance.
Scratching his back and front,
They speak of a new life.

I'm listening to. I look at memory,
What peasant gossiped Ogol:
"With the Soviet government to live us Nutra ...
Now would be a calico ... Yes nails a little bit ... "

How little this bradacham,
Whose life in a continuous
Potatoes and bread.
What did I swear at night
On a bad bitter fate?

I'm so jealous,
Who spent life in battle,
Who defended a great idea.
And I, ruined his youth,
Memories do not even have.

What scandal!
What a great scandal!
I found myself in a narrow gap.
After all, I could give
Not that, that gave,
That was given to me as a joke.

nice guitar,
link, link!
Play, gypsy, something is,
That I forgot poisoned days,
Not knowing any affection, or peace.

I know, sadness is not to drown in wine,
Not cure the soul
Desert and spalling.
Know, because so want to and I,
his pants,
Run after the Komsomol.

2 November 1924

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Sergey Yesenin
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