Freedom from rhyme, to hell with the beat, Forgetting the meaning, the soul's in deceit. Deceived by the crowd, now a slave to it all, The Lyre abandoned, few poets stand tall. A world of hack writers — fools' joy, they will thrive. "What’s Sense for sheeps?" — to serve Vile and contrive. And for distraction, petty verse is the deal. A world in decay, where Reason grows still.
In Russian:
Упадок поэзии
Свобода от рифмы И к чёрту все ритмы, Забвение смысла — Душа в эго влипла,