At the height of the Cold War

Who's there sitting by the window on a green chair?
Dress him up in a mess, and thoughts - black.
In the eyes of the color of aimless bullets –
readiness for any change in scenery fate.

Everywhere - the barometer of the victim. Without waiting for the volley,
kingdoms crumble themselves, red at the end of.
We are all now abroad, and if tomorrow
war, I buy peakless cap, not to serve in the infantry.

We know, that we are in the north. After midnight a bunch of mountain ash
ozaryaet visor osirotevshey dachas.
And let you - three times Giray, but the face of a slave,
holding her coat, not see otherwise.

And constantly spitting, The exact nature of the brain
He has something to tell; but, so as not to spoil the blood,
whispers in the vernacular. And if it is - Morse,
who decrypts it, if no slate roof?


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Joseph Brodsky
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