A keresés eredménye

One hundred years of loneliness

Versions: #1
Already there are two years, two long years of endless rain,
But, perhaps, it’s just someone drawing raindrops on my window.
This dampness ruins books, makes flowers on the wall grow.
And, oh my god, how lonely are those who towards me flow!
 
Hundred years of loneliness. | 4x
 
They come to Peter Bruegel, to Sartre, to René Magritte.
The door is long kept open, I don’t recall what happened to the key.
The ones that sit on my right - they always talk to me.
And those who sit on my left - they silent tend to be.
 
Hundred years of loneliness.
 
Reminding of you here, are only the chime of clocks,
with their uneven motion, a quote from Márquez, flashes of lightning,
and several quite old music sheets.
Already there are two years, two long years of stars unseen,
only rain falls in.
I look at the wax drawing, and it would have been better
had I not known what awaits you.
 
Hundred years of loneliness.
 
One day, having returned from all of the Americas,
You’ll stand by the door,
after eons of being apart and seventeen years of war,
From the entryway across, a child will step out, asking who you are.
He will leave, not waiting for an answer.
Pierced by the profound yearning, you’ll read this strange phrase, written on the wall in child’s hand.
 
Hundred years of loneliness.
 

Night watch

We used to get up with the rise of the sun
And lived a thousand years,
And then someone just took and stole
The fire, and flickering light disappear.
Then, some of us suddenly begin to pray,
The others sharpened the fangs,
But we all lived and drunk along the Blue river banks.
 
And then time flowed through our fingers,
The river became shallow by winter.
And those, who have always lived there, begin to blame
Newcomers from afar.
Some had sons growing up,
Others- daughters, pretty and slim,
But we all drunk from the same stream.
 
We imprisoned each other in a fortress,
We burned the bridges.
Above this city a star with a crescent,
Above the other- crosses on peaks.
Over one window the sound of oriole’s song,
Over the other the crows will scream,
But we all drunk from the same stream.
 
One gone to the mountains, away from the world
To the sources of Yin and Yang.
Another just smoked a hookah in a dark tea room
Sitting on the soft ottoman.
One of the wives had a white dress,
The one in black is nobody's wife, it seems,
But we all drunk from the same stream.
 
One has risen higher and higher in life,
The other broken the wing.
On some fields the ears of wheat were abundant,
On others not one tiny seedling.
One was dying, caught by a neighbor’s bullet,
Another fired his rifle at him,
But we all drunk from the same stream.
 
And taken a sip, some of wine, some of potion,
One remembers the father, one mother,
One decides, that it is time to build,
But it's time to blow up for another.
But every midnight the one Sitting
By the mill of Fates resolves their argument:
He says, who going to be the watchman.
 

Saint Petersburg

Peter, Peter,
You know a lot, you've seen so much,
And all I want to say to you -
just These words.
I buy a train ticket again.
A little jealous and a little upset,
Seeing me off to the station
Moscow at night.
 
The sky, the sky ...
Above you is quite another sky,
Frosty air breathes Nevsky,
Winter is coming soon.
And I go and smile at everyone,
I rise above the clouds,
And they nod to me, taking off their hats,
At the Nevsky House.
 
Somewhere, somewhere
In the favorite parks, the summer hid,
And a light rain on the gutter
He plays the trumpet.
Dug echoes in the courtyards of the wells,
On the old roof the sun is walking,
And the coffee smells, and all the coffee houses
They call to themselves.
 
Hello, city!
I'll walk along the square along the cathedral.
You have a the cruiser Aurora
And many other ships.
And I only have the guitar,
A little pair of samovar,
In her hand is a a titmouse dreamed
V formation of migratory birds
 
And I live on another planet,
There is little light and an eternal wind.
And, as if frustrated strings,
The wires are buzzing.
And sometimes I feel bad,
And it's been so long before dawn,
Then I leave everything as it is
And I'm coming back here.
 
Oh, this old bridge!
They remember everything, they are alive,
And every stone in the garden
It still believes in dreams.
And I stand as an inconspicuous shadow
In a old coat, under the starry canopy, I look,
For the second time, when i am fading away, I look,
How drawbridges are raising up.