I visited the ashes. well yes, stranger…

I visited the ashes. well yes, stranger.
But something akin to it looms,
even though we are separated by a mezhoy…
No, no diamonds he does not hide.
Only twilight crept on all sides.
Graham tram. The snow glistened in flight.
But, falling ash, it melted,
as it were melted, I am touching my flesh.
Surely something smoldered there, at the bottom,
Although the rain and the wind swept all.
But ash freezes on weight,
but too far from flies.
well yes, it is not a fact that the connection, but the thread,
some obscure the efforts of
are no longer, but is still present.
And I hear the same desire
It is the cry of the disabled, "Hey, son". –
Among the ruins need help
Inspired by the search for feet,
Not seeing snow. Midnight, midnight.
All this mass, night - now doubly
feel, make believe:
others do not burn on the fire,
which leaves no other
not only being half,
exposing another terrible torment,
but sometimes nature death
and he hopes to settle accounts with the spirit.
Still others are burned. And in hell,
with the remaining power left,
all his life to resist rain,
that all their besmirching.
But the ash from the ash have much in common.
Rodney shiny snow mounds above them.
Perpetuate marble and granite
notice the difference between them.
But the truth is, that if the rain comes,
night descends, Then dawn pales,
and the light of day in the ruins rises,
and nothing is green on the hill,
- how do not think suddenly of,
thought suddenly, if dies,
thought suddenly, that if the house dies,
- or rather, if a person burns,
and everything is gone: daydream, dreams,
and only at the tram turn
worth the hill - and there it spring –
the ashes rises to the flesh.
I visited the ashes. heat hillock
bezzhiznennыy. Otherwise there would be - there…
Streetcar rumbled around the corner.
He flashed fire. And all was quiet again.
Yes, here burned body, being.
But only night grimly whispers into the ear,
that the ashes hid his spirit,
and the horror - a form of life of the spirit.


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Joseph Brodsky
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