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(8 October 1892 – 31 August 1941 / Moscow)

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You walk, and look like me

You walk, and look like me,
Your eyes directed down.
I also used to lower mine!
Hey you, passer by, stop!

Read-when you've gathered
A bouquet of buttercups and poppies,
That I was called Marina
And how old I was.

Don't think that this is a grave,
That I will appear,scary...
I myself loved too much
To laugh, when I shouldn't have!

And the blood would come to my face
And my hair was curly...
You passer by, I also was!
You passer by, stop!

Break yourself off a wild stem
And after it a berry,-
No wild strawberry is larger or sweeter
Than one from a graveyard.

Only don't stand gloomily,
Dropping your head on your chest,
Think about me easily,
As easily then forget!

How the sun's ray shines upon you!
You're all covered in golden dust...
-Don't let it disturb you,
My voice from underground.

Submitted: Tuesday, April 13, 2010


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