В среду днем - Александр Градский

В среду днем она ушла, вымыв посуду и пол.

Он остался сидеть у окна, локти уставив в стол.

Он ненавидел стены и шкаф, стол у окна и стул,

Сор на газете, и рваный рукав, и ветер, что в окна дул.

И ветер, что в окна дул.

Ветер дул, задувая газ, мешая вариться кофе.

На сковородке вчерашних зраз гнили и лук и картофель.

А через час он взлетел из окна, не мучаясь и не боясь.

Мы отыскали кусок полотна, прикрыть его кровь и грязь.

Прикрыть его кровь и грязь.

Проигрыш,

Но он не был не кровь и не грязь, и не утратил суть.

Не надеясь и не боясь выбрал он этот путь.

И он, как мог, взлетел и уснул, ветер сдул на пол сор.

И чуть качнулись и стол и стул, будто ему в укор.

Будто ему в укор.

Будто ему в укор.

On Wednesday afternoon, she left after washing the dishes and the floor.

He remained sitting by the window, with his elbows on the table.

He hated the walls and the closet, the table by the window and the chair,

Rubbish on the newspaper, and a torn sleeve, and the wind that blew through the windows.

And the wind that blew through the windows.

The wind was blowing, blowing gas, making it difficult to brew coffee.

On the pan of yesterday's zrazy, both onions and potatoes rotted.

And an hour later he took off from the window, without suffering and without fear.

We found a piece of linen to cover up its blood and dirt.

Cover his blood and dirt.

losing

But he was not neither blood nor dirt, and he did not lose his essence.

Without hoping and without fear, he chose this path.

And he, as best he could, took off and fell asleep, the wind blew the rubbish on the floor.

And both the table and the chair swayed a little, as if to reproach him.

As if he was reproached.

As if he was reproached.