Butterfly – Joseph Brodsky

I

To tell, you're dead?

But you only live day.

How much sadness in a joke

Creator! barely

I can say

"Lived" - the unity of the date

birthday and when you

in my handful

crumbled, me

confused subtract

one of the two amounts of

within a day.

II

Then, what are the days for us -

nothing. Only

nothing. They are not prikolesh,

eyes and food

can not do: they are

on a white background,

not having a body,

invisible. days,

they like you; rather,

that can weigh

decreased ten times

One day?

III

To tell, that does not have

you? But what

in my hand so similar

with you? and color -

not the fruit of nothingness.

On whose tip

and so placed paint?

I hardly,

muttering lump

words, alien color,

have imagined that

palette could.

IV

On your wings

pupils, eyelashes -

beauty Does, birds -

snatches someone,

tell me, this people,

portrait of volatile?

what, tell, your case

particles, krupic

It presents still life:

of things, fruit you?

and even fishing

stretched out the trophy.

V

maybe, you are a landscape,

and, taking a magnifying glass,

I found a group

nymphs, clap, beach.

Light you there, both day?

il there dejectedly,

at night? and shining

what it

vzoshlo on horizon?

whose it figures?

Tell, with which nature

he was made?

WE

I think, What are you -

and that, and this:

stars, faces, of the subject

in you traits.

Who was the jeweler,

what, not frowning eyebrow,

He struck in miniature

them that world,

that drives us crazy,

It takes us in a pincer,

where are you, like the idea of ​​things,

we are the thing itself.

VII

Tell, what pattern

this was Duden

you just for a day

in the land of lakes,

whose amalgam in store

store space?

And you take away the chance

such a short time

to get into the net,

tremble in his hands,

at the time of the chase

plenity zrachok.

VIII

You do not answer me

not because

shyness and

with evil, and

then, you're dead.

live, dead -

but every creature of God

as a sign of kinship

granted for voice

communication, Peña:

extension moments,

minutes, of the day.

IX

And you - you are deprived

this pledge.

But, arguing strongly,

that's better: on

hell do be in heaven

in debt, registry.

Do not crush Well, if a

your age, your weight

dumbness worthy:

sound is also a burden.

incorporeity, than time,

you silently.

X

without feeling, not

lived to fear,

you veshsya easier to dust

on the flowerbed, outside

Similar to prison

Rate:
( No ratings yet )
Share with your friends:
Alexander Pushkin