By Sergei Yesenin
Life - a deceit with so a charming ennui;
It's strong in the expression kind,
Because of fatal writings row,
By rude hand written in someone.
And always I say, while closing the eyes:
'Only one time your heart's disturbed,
Life is a deceit, but in this case at once
It's decorating lie with joy.
Let's open your face to sky grey-haired,
Guessing on moon about destiny.
Go calm, the mortal one, don't ask then
For truth, which is of no need'.
It's good in a white bird-cherry's storm again
To think about life as a straight.
And let your easy girls decieve one day,
And let your easy friends betray.
Let me be cared all by tender word,
Let my tongue will be sharp as razor, -
I'm living in the procured world,
I'm used to live in ruthless way for long.
With that heights soul's brought to coldness,
There's no warmth from that star's fire.
Whom I loved - all from me renounced,
Whom I lived with - forgot me now.
But in all cases, being driven, closed,
I am looking at a sunrise, smiling,
And on this lovely and so dear earth globe
I am thanking life for all by now.
August 1925
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