| (edited) 1 Can't recall my conception's true hour, My reminiscence must be lopsided. I was cooked up in sin, after dark though, And saw light not until it was time to. I was born not in throes, nor in malice: After all, 't was nine months not nine years. In a womb, I thus served my first sentence; There's nothing attractive down there. God's messengers, I'm very glad You spitted mold and breathed upon, So, finally, my Mom and Dad Made up their mind, and I was born To dark and inconspicuous times, Today, as old as fabulous, When sentenced to enormous times Were counting halting places off. Some, rousted on the cook-up night, And plenty had already been, And yet to think they're still alive, My good old honored kith and kin! 2 Forward, vigorous thoughts! Forward, dear! Have your say, dear lines! Have your say! It's the first time that I, by decree, Had been freed in 1938. If I knew who'd been dragging it out, I would take it out on the scamp. Nonetheless, I was born and lived out: First Meschanskaya street, at the end. There, in a small room, right next-door, Behind a thin partition wall, A neighbor with her mating boy Were dawdling o'er a vodka bottle. So modestly, so plainly lived: Doors, all along a corridor, For more than 30 families One only square meter john. There, teeth oft chattered out of cold, And quilted jackets wouldn't warm; It's there that I for real learnt What was a copper penny's worth. 3 Neighbors paid little mind to banshees, and Mom got gradually used ... |
