To all

Not.
It is not true.
Not!
And you?
darling,
for what,
for what?!
Good -
I went,

I gave flowers,
Well, I have not stolen from the drawer silver spoons!
White,
sshatalsya from the fifth floor.
The wind burns the cheeks.
Street swirled, Contains a vizzha and.
Lewd vzlazil rozhok of rozhok.
Exalted above the bustle of the capital stupor
strict -
ancient icons -

forehead.
On your body - both on his deathbed -
heart
days
left off.
Roughly murder does not get dirty hands you.
You
He dropped only:
“The soft bed
he,

fruits,
wine on the nightstand palm”.
Love!
my only
inflamed
brain was you!
Silly comedy stop progress!
look -
I tear off the toy-armor
I,

Don Quixote is the greatest!
Remember:
under the burden of the cross
Christ
give me a sec
become tired.
the crowd shouted:
“Marala!
Maaarrraaala!”
Right!

each,
Who
vacation prayed,
oplyuy in its spring day!
army ascetics, doomed volunteers
from a man no mercy!
pretty!
Now -
I swear by the power of my pagan! —
give
any
beautiful,
young, —
the soul is not wasted,
rape
and in the heart of mockery spit it!
Eye for an eye!
Seva revenge a thousand times zhni!
In each ear vvoy:
the whole earth -
lag
with a half-shaved head sun!
Eye for an eye!
kill,
Pohoronite -
vyroyus!
On the stone obtochatsya teeth knives yet!
Dog zabyus under the bunk of the barracks!
I will,
mad,
bite into a beetle-crusher,
smelling of sweat and bazaar.
night jump!
I
calling!
White bull rose from the ground:
Muuuu!
In the yoke-ulcer tortured sheya,
over the ulcer tornados flies.
elk turn around,
to wire
implicate branching head
with bloodshot eyes.
Yes!
Hunted beast over the world will overcome.
Do not leave a person!
Prayer at the mouth, —
I went on asking for plates and dirty it.
I'll take
draw
on the royal doors
on the face of God Razin.
The sun! Rays do not throw!
Sohnite, river, quench thirst without giving him, —
to thousands of my students were born
pipes with space anathema!
And when,
finally,
riding on centuries became,
the last day they will come, —
black hearts killers and anarchists
Light the bloody vision!
Day breaks.
Increasingly, the sky opens up his mouth.
Night
drink a sip by sip it.
From the windows glow.
From the windows of the heat flows.
From the windows of thick sun pours on the sleeping city.
My holy places!
Again
of street dust
staggering rows upward sweep!
To the edge of complete heart
isolate
to confession!
people coming!
Who you are?
Here I am,
all
pain and hurt.
I will make you a fruit garden
my great soul.

[1916]

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Vladimir Mayakovsky
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