By Sasha Chorny
The moon ascended from behind the fence
And pertly sat atop an angled roof.
With hope and love and faith I listen in
To people shutting shutters by the window.
And the moon!
Oh, languid rustling of the darkened poplars.
And that naively childish smell of ripened plums.
How love starts groping hearts with its tenacious grabbers,
While apple trees keep laughing merrily along the alleys.
Braver now!
Or are you mouse-like, and silenced by all silence?
Until the door of some deserted balcony should wail;
And turning pale, start rummaging in waves of overalls;
And that’s when, like a butterfly, you slip away and find me,
In flames...
Oh, Yes - the door is singing. And so, at last, one's wait is done.
But then again, the wheeze, the cough, the nose blows,
The alien silhouette of fatty legs -
And everything here says that it's your dad.
The end.
Oh rhino! He is staring at the moon,
He's scraping sides, the belly, and the loins,
And, having squeezed the floor until it weeps,
With hiccups he disturbs the silence.
Oh, well, well, well...
And then in woman’s shoes descended to the sleepy garden,
Is picking fallen apples in the alley,
He soon devours them with a chomp and crunching,
And into darkness shoots his nearsighted stare.
Get back!
I clung unto the trunk with rage and desperation.
I froze. Got mute. While in the heart my castanets remained...
You sleep, my love? But, oh, of course there is no answer,
And just won't leave, that sluggish ancient man -
He's gotten used to it!
He dreams... The sod! Sits down upon a bench...
Around him a spike-topped fence is outstretched.
Perchance, I may get stuck and through a feeble scream
My love and anger I would pour right out. I spit...
The moon builds up a silver dust.
It's bright. And I am sorry!..
For yearningly I o-ver-cli-mb,
Then over distance with your eyes start ma-ki-ng-o-ut
And... With a crrrrrackle tear a pant leg on a crutch.
Oh, Rachel!
Alike a rabid mammoth I lamely dragged myself along.
Out on the streets the lace of chestnuts was and moon...
May love be cursed whenever tyrant-dads wait nearby!
So who will satisfy today my hunger?
Homewards now!..
- 1910