Ты ждешь окончания дня:
служебных часов учет,
как будто бы жизнь твоя
не с ними на вычет идёт.

А где подходящий сезон?
Немного ещё подождать,
мы слякоти марафон,
конечно, не будем считать.

Отнимем из жизни людей,
с которыми не срослось,
и те отпечатки дней,
где рядом быть довелось.

И вычтутся вместе с тем,
надежды, что не сбылись,
за вычетом этих проблем
не складывается жизнь.

Вот место, где был просчет,
простой арифметики сбой:
все то, что на вычет идет —
оказывается мной.

26.10.23

I am stuck in limbo
awaiting tragedy,
as a leaf awaits a gust
to tear it free from its branch.

I am shrouded in stillness;
a blissful peace.
I will look back on these days and think
"I did not know what I had"

Not far from now,
life will twist into a cascade
of irreversible losses.
I can feel it stirring,
an everlasting sorrow,
like the wind kicking leaves at my feet.

I will change forever.

And I'm okay,
To all our demons:
I obey.

When you turned me into prey,
My anger, I had to slay.

We now move in silence,
It's a new kind of nuance.

You taught me fear the hard way,
Through fake smiles,
I announced:
My stay.

Of ***** friends I've had but seven,
Despite my years are ripe;
I hope they're now enjoying Heaven,
Although they're not the type;
Nor, candidly, no more am I,
Though overdue to die.

For looking back I see that they
Were weak and wasteful men;
They loved a sultry jest alway,
And women now and then.
They smoked and gambled, ****** and swore,
--Yet no one was a bore.

'Tis strange I took to lads like these,
On whom the good should frown;
Yet all with poetry would please
To wash his wassail down;
Their temples touched the starry way,
But O what feet of clay!

Well, all are dust, of fame bereft;
They bore a cruel cross,
And I, the canny one, am left,--
Yet as I grieve their loss,
I deem, because they loved me well,
They'll welcome me in Hell.