Poems about youth and maturity

Poems about youth and youth

V. Benediktov “Flew away”

Eh, you youth is a villain! You left the old man, Like a treasured penny From a poor man's pocket. Why, in my grief, did I retain my feelings of fervor? Why did I not forget to tremble at the sweet gaze? It would be better if this flame died out! It would be better if, having weighed the number of years, the heart turned to stone, and was overgrown with moss!

May you still be with me, Whirlwind - my youth, As with you, my dear one. I wish I could go for a walk today! What a lesson I would give to these sedate young men! These ones, who were corrupted at a young age, And then don’t go anywhere for the future, These ones, who have been accustomed since childhood And to lorgnettes and glasses And drooping over books, Young old men!

Do not touch them in the most sophisticated questions! They burn cigars and cigarettes: Smoke - that is, but where is the fire? What are maidens and sorceresses to them? They don't care about love; Only magazine articles. Blood swirls in them. It is not the anxieties of the heart that occupy their thoughts, but the railways, the prices of stock exchange shares, the mechanical fishing for Orders, ranks and places, and free trade, at least at first - at the expense of brides. In everyone you see a person who, with a calculation on his mind, is looking for a warm place Somewhere, even in Chukhloma. He was born a diplomat, Talleyrand - look - exactly the same, He even looks like Socrates - If only he would stay away from the hemlock! He considers Rus' a village; He has studied the whole world, both new and ancient, and is learned, learned beyond measure: He knows what and how heterae are, He speaks about amphorae And a bouquet of Falernian wines; What is new, finally, is After Provincial Sketches. - The ultimate sage: He wants to multiply the light of his ideas in the provinces, Wants to destroy bribes To console people; And then, raising his eyebrows, he will climb up there, let him get the taste - trouble! A tiger cub licks a little blood and becomes a tiger anywhere.

But why am I attacking you so offensively, my young friend? “Your youth is enviable to the Elder.” Do not be angry! Don't take revenge on the poet! So I'm delirious and joking, How I started the song, That's how I'll conclude it: Eh, you youth is a villain! You left the old man! - Like the last penny From a poor man's pocket.

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N. Krandievskaya-Tolstaya “Arrogant youth”

Arrogant youth, I don't regret you! Full of foam and cold, save your heart for whom?

My afternoon is approaching with thunderstorms, all in fruitful bloom. I see, with blissful roses the ear and thorns are intertwined.

Let, not only with pleasure - but with the decline, with the bitterness of decay, but with mortal coolness draw from the blossoming depths -

Rejoice, ready for sacrifice, raised to the forefront, Grow and bloom, ecstatic Heart, and fall like a fruit!

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A. Blok “Youth”

The memory of a sleepy life draws me into the shadow of the alleys, Where the fragrant twilight of the night disturbs the dear nightingale... To where we prayed hotly, Where the sweet profile of gray eyes The lightning, flashing brightly, gave me away every time... To where we, in years gone by, Loved sing songs And trust these young songs in the night sky... And then we were drawn into the darkness Because somewhere in the heavens And on the silent earth lived Bliss in the stars and flowers, And to every lightning that flared up They could talk about secrets And these secrets - fables - Themselves eavesdrop... and love!

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E. Asadov “Don’t argue about youth”

Don't argue about youth! The powers of daring are decided not by years, but by the burning of hearts. After all, youth is not age, but a state, and sometimes it is worth any state!

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E. Asadov “Oh, how much you want in your youth”

Oh, how much you want in your youth And how much you dream in your youth! And only in old age does one laugh that nothing comes true...

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N. Gnedich “Transience of youth”

The violet shone at dawn; There was color before the sun; But at noon the stem fell off, and by evening the violet was gone!

A sad image!.. So the playful youth will rush away from us. Blessed is he who enjoys life in its fleeting hour!

My youth is already fading; Golden time has passed! Already sadness oppresses my spirit, thoughtfulness darkens my brow.

Old age comes and drives away the last hours of pleasure; Diseases will bend my spine, Snow will fall on my head.

Melancholy, darkening my hateful age, will fall on my heart like a mountain; The blood will freeze in the dull chest, And death will exclaim to me: it’s time!..

O hill, where, building a lyre in childhood, I sat down with a horse, You be my bed of eternal peace! I wished for this as happiness:

I have always wished that the sacred land, Where the bones of my fathers sleep, Near them, would calm my decaying ashes In the arms of my relatives;

So that the silent grave would rise above me and only speak to the wind with its tall grass.

And you, for whom I loved the universe and wanted to eke out life, Sister! when your chest is tight and you want to relieve it by crying,

When, from sorrow to joy, You come to my coffin, in the moonlight, Talk with my shadow, Midnight hours in silence, -

Remember my forgotten horsetail, bring it with you; To distinguish the singer's tomb, Hang under the oak tree above me.

In the sad midnight hour she will remind you of the singer; With the moan of the wind over the grave And it will pour out its funeral groan.

But if, by a fatal storm, I am brought into foreign lands, I am covered with foreign soil, buried by a hired hand,

Not even a single sigh will sweeten my sorrowful shadow, And my deserted tombstone will only be a gathering place for animals.

In the night, an owl will howl over him, Perched on the bowed cross; And the traveler’s heart will ache, He will run away from sorrowful places.

But perhaps, moaning over him, the turtledove will shed a languid voice; And, captivating the traveler with a song, he will draw him to my grave;

Perhaps the traveler is the son of sorrow, And he will sit on the grave; And for a moment, tired, he will bow into a thoughtful and sweet sleep;

Having set his soul, touched by dreams and awakened by them, He says, embracing the bowed cross: “Here, surely, the good one is buried!”

Perhaps... Why is my spirit languishing? Even if the ashes mix with a foreign land, Even if the ashes mix with my own, I will see my friends again!

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E. Grebenka “Youth”

Youth! golden time. In the necklace of our days This is an expensive pearl More beautiful than the pearls of the seas. You were separated from me, you flew away, my friend, I told you with my soul the inevitable: forgive me!

How long has it been fresh and new? The feeling shook my chest; And was the soul ready to love someone? Did your heart beat in anticipation, And did vague desires stir your blood? What has passed will not happen again!..

Poetic nights With the twinkling of the moon, The fiery eyes of the Virgins of their native land with passion, The first timidity of dates, And the delight of living kisses In the hour of evening silence, And the green vault of cherry trees. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I said sorry to everything! Everything is over. Memories With a magic pen Sometimes, in hours of dreaming, Draws sad tales About the lost past.

But thank you, my dear Youth! Remembering you, I am pleased with myself, that from this hot battle of sinful thoughts and passions I carried in my soul a thirst for true prayer and love for a crowd of people. Even though I am on a harsh journey, Strict fate does not spoil me, You are a gilded flower in my crown of thorns!

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A. Dementyev “When youth comes to me”

When youth comes to me, So that the meeting is easy, I prefer humor with it, Instead of training rations And, briefly remembering Pestalozzi, For a moment I will take on a serious look. And youth laughs merrily, And argues noisily and jokes. And it’s really easy for her to talk to me about life. And blaspheme the addiction to money, Until they start. And eat cabbage pies, And listen to my sincerity, Not knowing that I pass on life experience to them with all my might. And just enjoy the meeting. Because she is so kind. And no contradictions All night, until the morning.

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R. Ivnev “Message to Youth”

While your passions have not yet been cooled by the cool currents of the stream of time, Capture for those who have barely entered into life your emotional disturbances. Tell your youth about the sweetest pain, As ancient as the biblical Noah, About bitter joy, about joyful bondage And about a smile, drunk without wine. Tell them, captivating and young, who have barely opened their eyes to love, About the brilliance of the stars, about the lunar night itself, And about the invisible mysteries of blood. Tell them how, with a wild thirst for happiness, you crossed the Pacific Ocean, about the heart and its uncontrollable power, about the shores of various countries. Be able to convey to them the smells and colors of flowers and waves, sunsets, dawns and bodies, the science of unknown caresses and the fire with which you burned. Let youth hear about the storm, barely extinguished at sunset, in order to trace the same storms and shocks on their own azure.

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D. Bykov “I feel sorry for those whose youth was ruined”

I feel sorry for those whose youth found itself in an era of change. The place of the hot metal is replaced by polymer.

Friendship doesn't seem like a support to me. The world is becoming more spacious, more and more crowded. There is nothing worse than to coincide in everything with the era: You can die with it.

On a warm yellow day I wander through the October twentieth park. Either my life has gone down the drain, or my youth has simply passed.

It's a pity that I happened to be in this place At the end of glorious years. It’s a pity that we are now growing old together: The resonance is such that there is no urine.

So I write in sluggish verse, bitterly caustic, like autumn smoke, Slutsky’s trochaic pentameter, lame on one foot.

It's a pity for the useless fuse And the autumn warmth. I feel sorry for those whose homeland has disappeared. I feel sorry for those whose youth has passed.

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D. Bykov “If youth knew and old age could”

If youth knew and old age could - But it doesn’t know, it can’t; despondency and darkness, For to know means to be unable to translate. I myself can still do something because I don’t know everything about myself, about the people, and I won’t soon understand my inappropriateness.

It is impossible to imagine a route on a map, Where they will trample on the right, and devour on the left. You can only strengthen this skill along the way: Sticking to the ground, waiting, throwing, Running, substitutions, agreements, amendments - That is, Lord God, what melancholy!

Get used, soul, to dry out at the edges, So that at this price you can get out of the pits, not to desire, not to regret, not to be afraid of a word or a knife; Overgrown with scabs of armor, get used to weaning yourself from anyone and everyone And running away, if only they get used to it.

Oh, shrink, shrink, forgetting words, Betraying hopes, surrendering rights, Shrink and harden, for our task is not counting any holes or patches on the cloak, not loving, not calling, not regretting, not crying, In the end, learn not to be at all .

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I. Selvinsky “Oh, whatever you say, but youth is gone»

Oh, whatever you say, my youth is gone... I still smile at women as usual, I still shine with the feather of a mighty wing, I’m still waiting for something - but in my heart there is chaos, chaos!

I also want to breathe, and listen, and watch; I can still step into joy and pain, But I know: ahead, in the middle of the ocean of boredom, There is only one wonderful thing: death.

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I. Selvinsky “Youth”

You will fly out into the air in the morning, Kissing women with the wind, - Laughter, like a vigorous pearl, Jumps into your teeth, into your nostrils...

What would this be? There seems to be no reason: The sky is sleek and decorous, The sea is also at peace.

Carefully drained the puddles of the rain the day before yesterday; Nine o'clock on the tower - Caterpillars for duty;

And in my sublinguals Something is pouring out like peas, So that my lungs loudly Bark and burst into laughter...

Listen, come on, come on! But you can’t do a damn thing: The laughter is golden, ripe, So satisfying and full.

There are so many funny things in the world: For example, “cabbage”... We need to think about sad things, But what should we outline?

Plague rats may sneak into the cellar tomorrow. I'll be bald too. Once upon a time the images were bent...

Somewhere in Norway the flagship... And suddenly again: “cabbage”! Devilry! How delicious it is to rattle your diaphragm like that!

A golden laughter, Foamy, excellent. Shh... come on: is it decent for someone like that to be happy?

V. Knyazev “Glory to those who understood early”

Glory to those who early understood the beauty of young life, Who didn’t miss spring: In the face of trouble - Didn’t lift an eyebrow, The young one - Burned with love... Glory to those who are cheerful and cheerful, Who, under the burden of adversity, Didn’t hang their noses at the fifth, And - lives !

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V. Mayakovsky “The Secret of Youth”

No, not those “young people” who, huddled in a lawn and in a boat, begin to rinse their throats with vodka amidst the squealing and hubbub. No, not those “young people” who, on good spring nights, wearing fashionable clothes, sweep the boulevards with bell-bottoms.

No, not those “youth” who, hearing the glow of the sunrise of life, hearing an itch in their blood, squander it on novels. Is this youth? No! It's not enough to be eighteen years old. The young are those who will say to the thinning fighting ranks in the name of all children: “We will remake earthly life!” Youth - this name is a gift to those who are poured into the combat KIM, to those who fight so that the days of labor are joyful and easy!

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I. Surikov “Where are you, my youth”

Where are you, my youth? Where are you, my strength?.. Bitter grief crushed my chest.

It’s hard to rise with a drooping head; Thoughts swarm in her like black clouds;

And through these clouds the Sun will not shine; The heart, like a wounded dove, trembles.

Oh, villainous fate! You ruined me; Angry need crammed into a gloomy, cramped corner.

Here is my closet - Dirty, damp; A little candle shines in the darkness, burning out.

There's a table against the wall; Here are two shabby chairs; In the corner the icon has drowned in the darkness.

Here is my friend In a desolate valley, She sews, works, Killing herself in grief.

Here she lies in bed, Pale, thin, My sick mother groans and groans.

It's cold in the closet; Members are stiffening. I would flood the stove - there is not a log of firewood.

Dizzy; Everything is darker than thoughts; And you stand and cry, Sad and gloomy.

And involuntarily, anger boils in the heart against the one who, in the light of evil, does not know need.

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V. Rozhdestvensky “Parting with youth”

Well! Let's say goodbye. So be it. A minute on the way. I didn’t know how to love you, Merry, I’m sorry!

It's time to be drier and smarter... I am patient and stingy And to the one who is more tender than all my friends, I will not give either hands or lips.

Why are we clinking glasses with you? Over the past years? Open the piano, sigh and sing, As you sang to me then.

I hid my face in my hot fingers, I gave free rein to my tears, and I heard the ring rolling, ringing, at your feet.

Let's remember everything! Seventeen years. In his hands - in morocco - Blok. In the curls of the apple trees there is moonlight, a lake breeze.

Love, exams, April And our last ball, Where the White Column Hall floated in a waltz, swirling in a blizzard.

Let us remember the seaside, the dunes, the forest, the lead slope of the Neva, the University corridor, where the sunset fell.

Here youth ended, and now the war struck. The world is caught in a whirlpool Boiling to the bottom.

In a thunderstorm and storm, a century collapsed, cursing the night of violence. A new man was born from ashes and fire.

These days you were a sister, With a headscarf up to your eyebrows, And you leaned over me, Perhaps more than anyone else.

And in October, in response to a brotherly call, Throwing on my pea coat, You walked with a detachment of sailors To hungry Petrograd.

And there, at the Winter Palace, Through the cannons of triumph, I have never seen a face more beautiful than yours!

I give into your hands the helm of a simple day. Goodbye, honey! With another Don't forget me.

In the name of truth to the end, Words from an armored car entered, like life, like light, into the hearts for eternity.

From now on, the thread of the Harsh Path is woven into fate. It’s not you, but life that I love! You are easy, forgive me...

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L. Oshanin “Song about troubled youth”

Our concern is simple, Our concern is this: If only our native country would live, And there are no other worries!

And the snow, and the wind, And the flight of stars at night... My heart is calling me to the anxious distance.

Let trouble after trouble threaten you and me, But my friendship with you Only dies with me.

As long as I can walk, As long as I can look, As long as I can breathe, I will move forward!

And just like everyone in life, you will meet Love one day, - With you, like you, it will bravely pass through the storms.

Don’t think that you have sung everything, that the storms have all died down. Get ready for a great goal, And glory will find you!

And the snow, and the wind, And the flight of stars at night... My heart is calling me to the anxious distance.

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S. Obradovic “About Youth”

We mourn over youth, About passing youth, In tired, angry evenings, We call old life a nag.

You can’t hide a graying strand And the shadows of the night are on your face, Like the frost of October, Like the first yellow leaf of autumn.

And you will notice this with bitterness. That the pass is not to the top, And you can’t answer the smile of the one you called your beloved...

And youth is nearby, And you won’t even feel how it will catch you, And, attracted by youth, Suddenly you will forget about the sunset.

A merry knot is a mess, And the autumn blue is a tit. Not floors, but towers, Not signs, but lightning.

Old things for scrapping. And a briskly caring, glass and hot brick bends over the shoulder, a construction site blooming in the sun.

Old things for scrapping. And the age marches on the threshold with such revelry, As if there were no languid roads and stooped shoulders.

Let a leaf fall like a muddy senile tear onto the earthly chest, - With the blush of apples, cheeks and dawn, the world blazes and excites!

I'm in the wind - my chest wide open. Caressing the red-haired bully, It is easy and joyful to look into the eyes of the passerby and the world.

Over the city, a smoke-filled reveler shakes his lost head: He was young at the forge... ...We mourn over youth, Over departing youth.

Do not smolder, but tremble with fire, So that our rage goes to the sun. And let's call such ebullient old age youth.

Let a leaf fall like a muddy, senile tear onto the earth's chest, - With the blush of apples, cheeks and dawn, the world blazes and excites.

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Y. Moritz “My Basement” When we were young and spouted beautiful nonsense, blue fountains flowed and red roses grew.

There was a sound and song in the garden - The stream was babbling and the ravine was blooming, The pink body of the cherry tree was burning in the windows like a beacon.

The soul breathed sweetly like rain, Raising its crimson collar, And, like a tender wafer, The goldfinch penetrated the breathing hole.

The light bubbled inside me like a violin, No one recognized me, Such a sunny lump Transformed my basement.

Four summers have passed since then. The gardens are not the same, the streams are not the same. But I remember this enlightenment In all its sacred simplicity.

And if I take out a notebook, To capture this life, I remember in order Everything that I want to sing.

Everything that cleansed the soul, And illuminated, and attracted, And was there from the very beginning, And henceforth could not disappear:

When we were young and spouted beautiful nonsense, blue fountains flowed and red roses grew.

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Y. Moritz “It’s good to be young”

It’s good to be young, To fight for self-love, To stand independently in front of the gray mirror, To live bravely - rough, To dream fiercely about everything, To not be afraid of anything - Even to look ridiculous!

It’s good to want everything, to take what’s yours - and not stealthily, to rustle with a proud mane, to boast proudly of one’s habits, to start this and that, breaking with this and that, always giving reasons to the fanners of hot gossip!

How wonderful it is to live and live, Without fear of an oncoming car, To cherish everything in the world, Except for fleeting life! It’s good to walk like a horse, to hold power over a full hall, not to tremble over every day - There’s a lot of that!

It's good to be young! It just doesn't get any better! Alcohol, insomnia and smoke - it all brings up ideas! Our young bodies are tempered by frenzy! So it’s over, la-la, Musical introduction, -

But the piercing motive begins! Attention! They sleep, hugging each other, The young ones are like in nirvana. And in their ignorance, young people - Not a boom-boom about the shores, About the silver meadows, Where gray-haired people will embrace each other to sleep, And one will fall asleep forever. ...It's good to be young!..

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V. Lugovskoy “Farewell to youth”

So life flows brightly, hotly, Like a stream of cooling tin, So midnight lays its stern head on my shoulder.

Farewell my youth! You whined in me hopelessly and impatiently about the wind of the steppes, about the polar fire of the Bering Strait.

You hug me so much, you excite me so much with romance, the sea, the trade winds, that I freeze and hear in my chest how atoms are torn and swirling.

And it’s impossible to sleep, and life is great, And the walls live in a special way, And if I indulge you again, I’ll lose everything I’ve collected.

You will throw me ahead, at random - I know you, long-eyed - And I will rise, black-browed and hunchbacked, Like the mountains of Central Asia.

For battle, for reprisal, for the journey, for the night Under the blankets of stars. And you will redirect my frenzied run with vaulted stations,

And the halls of dreams, and the hiss of bullets, And the sailing wind of the tropics, But with a dark hand you will grab the steering wheel of Design, rhythm, stanza.

And I will go crazy and write, hopelessly, impatiently, as the sails of the Silver Bay now write across the sky.

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R. Kazakova “We are young”

We are Young. We have stockings with darning. It's difficult for us. It's youth's fault. But behind the cheap curtains free air splashes, smelling of spring.

We no longer have dolls and balls, but, as we once dreamed long ago, boys in dark parks treat us to swings, and kvass, and movies.

We say goodbye to our cotton dresses and our worn-out heels. We are Young. None of us are crying. Let's laugh, white-toothed and lively!

What the nights smell like! Wet stone, pier, pollen, mint, sand... We are young. We look strictly, intently. We love to argue and walk...

Ah, do not leave us, clear, spring, when growing up comes to us, when another, adult luck will lead us along other roads.

You can’t escape the passing years, but let’s not change the first “yes” and “no”. And may the shining money of the moon remain more valuable than all coins.

Life is an anvil. Raise your hammers! In youth, the main things are important. We are Young. We will look forever young in rivers, in books, in mirrors...

E. Yevtushenko “Oh, the controversy of our youth”

Oh, the arguments of our youth, oh, these eccentric gatherings, oh, these evenings of ours! Oh, our indoor heat, on the tea saucers there are piles of ashes, and cider bubbles, and foam, and eggplant caviar!

There are no roundabout conversations here. Here the performer of solo arias and the sculptor in basketball sneakers shout, waving a sausage. A student with a heavily forged scythe is speaking arrogantly and judicially here.

Here songs are sung to the piano, and the floor cracks, and saucers break, here they laugh with impunity at the clothes of naked kings. There are so many opinions, so many debates about the ways of Russia in the past and about it today.

Everything breathes joyfully and menacingly. And it’s too late to leave. Let it seem like a game: it’s not for nothing that we wheeze in these disputes, it’s not for nothing that we pour out ridicule, it’s not for nothing that glasses of pale cider stand next to sieve bread and eggplant caviar!

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R. Gamzatov “Eternal Youth”

Here the judges lined up, blocking half the horizon. And their eyes burn with anger, And all the words fly at me:

“A young man who did not shave his beard, A puppy who does not remember good things, Answer us: is it true that you were with a woman in the forest yesterday?..”

I answer the judges: “Yes! I found a lot in the forest, I went there as a boy, from there I went there as a man!..”

Once again the judges lined up, blocking half the horizon. And their eyes burn with anger, And all the words fly at me:

“Forgetting about your gray hair And forgetting your previous sins, You walked with a woman and Whispered love poems to her?..”

“Yes!” I answer the judges. “I was walking with a woman.” Whispered words. And I believed that my destiny is Bright as long as love is alive!..”

And the judges frown menacingly, And again they demand: “We don’t understand,” they say, “We don’t understand. Explain..."

I tell them: “There is love, And, having felt its crown, The youth easily grows up, And the old man grows younger again.

The dumb singer becomes dumb, The singer becomes dumb. Love is my constant companion. I will be forever young!

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N. Nekrasov “Don’t say that you ruined your youth”

Do not say that You have ruined your youth, You have tormented me with jealousy; Don’t say!.. my grave is close, And you are a fresh spring flower!

That day when you fell in love with me and heard from me: I love you, - Don’t curse! My grave is near, I will set everything right, I will atone for everything with death!

Don’t say that your days are sad, Don’t call the sick man a jailer: Before me is the cold darkness of the grave, Before you is the embrace of love!

I know: you fell in love with someone else, You are tired of sparing and waiting... Oh, wait! My grave is near - Let fate begin what has been started and finish!..”

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T. Rovitskaya “This is in early youth”

This is in early youth Everything for the first time, and then, Like the last breath, The first snow and the first thunder. The first lily of the valley, flying ice, The fluff of shaggy clouds, Like the last involvement, The early crow of roosters. And your words will melt, And your eyes will burn, And the price for everything is this - First glance, last glance.

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Y. Drunina “They killed my youth”

They killed my youth From a sniper rifle, In battle, During bombing And during artillery shelling... I returned home from the front Wounded, but strong and straight - Even though my soul could barely stay in the body.

And again the bullets flew after: The life of the post-war years is terrible - I need to rest at least a little!.. They didn’t kill my youth, It stayed somewhere on the edge, It didn’t bend again, It didn’t break.

And then - Troubles are an immeasurable oppression: Your death... And the death of anyone is oppressive. Only I didn’t lose myself. The heart has not aged at all, It hits the chest just as hard, Well, I squeezed my soul in a vice.

And now I’m waging the last battle With the years, With grievances, With fate - I don’t want to give up on anything! Why? Probably because even now my Heart is Eighteen, Only Eighteen!

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M. Jalil “Youth”

Youth didn’t say goodbye to me, didn’t even shake hands. How proud I am, pray tell, - She just turned and left. Only I, an eccentric, marveling at something, waved my hand after her, - Either he asked to come back for a minute, or he sent a grateful greeting.

She left me on the road without looking, She fled away with a light breeze, Traversing the furrows of wrinkles on my forehead, as if on the surface of a lake.

And I stood for a long time in the clearing, Feeling a tightness in my chest: Youth, like this forest in the fog, Left far behind

Youth, frolic, enchantress, Why were you so close to me? Why does this restless melancholy last and last in the heart?

Maybe I loved you? The days when I was tormented by passion? Rouse's rowan lips, hotly clinging to mine?

Or are you still dear to me? The stadium where the football was noisy? I was obsessed with the excitement of sports, I spent many days in the wonder of it.

Or here... I stand in front of the target, I press the trigger, squinting my eyes. I remember my every move, Even though it’s been a long time.

Maybe it happens to everyone, An evil memory stings like a bee? Or the time has simply come to be sad that youth is gone.

Nothing! I will not lose heart, There are many separations and meetings in life. Even in my old age I will not stop listening to the sonorous speech of youth.

The homeland, together with the young, will call us to battle with any misfortune, - Then we will all stand in the same ranks and shake our gray beard.

Youth, don’t be arrogant, dear, It’s not only you who have the heat in your soul, - This is how our life is now: We both live and die, loving.

You are not the only joy and joy. Is happiness only in you alone? Age is not a hindrance to the strength of feeling, The sun does not end with spring. If Rauza is born again, she will come to the cherished stream again, she will marvel at my “horse riding” and stroke my beard.

There is no trace of youth, No matter how much I look after it, Only on the horizon I see blue, like sea waves, blue...

Let me say goodbye today, I’ll turn around and wave to you. This really is parting, Youth, dear comrade!

Thank you for the warm fire! And to be sad?.. Now is not the time. If you returned, you would be surprised at the brightness of the fire.

This heat of the heart will not go out, I will live, burn, fight. This is what it means to remember you forever, my dear.

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I. Samarina-Labyrinth “Youth and maturity sat on a bench”

Youth and maturity sat on the bench... Youth said: “How can I?” Maturity answered: “Beauty is not eternal, Learn to share the beauty of your heart...” Youth, with mockery: “What’s wrong with you? Home, family, work... Boring shackles...” Maturity smiled, as if to her youngest daughter: “Without the shackles of family, people are alone...” Youth repeated: “Everything about me is beautiful, Young, free, and beautiful, okay?” Maturity answered: “I’m wiser than you, And I won’t dare argue with you, baby... Grow up, you’ll find out, happiness is not in freedom, Not in night festivities, not in Parisian fashion...” Youth laughed: “All this is nonsense, If not this happiness means there is no happiness.” Maturity answered: “No, it happens, If the sky allows you to live with your loved one, If the laughter of children is heard from the house... You are still unfamiliar with happiness, baby...” Youth asked: “If this is true, What about at night? Are you crying and what are the secrets about? “I cry at night...”, maturity said: “Because I didn’t appreciate it before...”

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A. Akhmatova “You gave me a difficult youth”

You gave me a difficult youth. So much sadness along the way. How can I bring my meager soul to You? Fate sings a long song, flattering, about glory. God! I am careless, Your stingy slave. I will not be a rose or a blade of grass in the Father's gardens. I tremble over every speck, Over every word of a fool.

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O. Berggolts “There must be enough youth”

There must be enough youth, the soul is probably still light - if a sudden melancholy sets in on thirst, when the sky becomes clearer, and thin greenery flickers everywhere, and you cannot find refuge in your beloved city full of people - longing for love, still not an ex, about deeds not yet accomplished, about unknown friends who did not come, whom she had in mind and was waiting for...

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O. Berggolts “Youth”

...When I sing of you, I will call you my dear friend, who has lost my youth, fleet-footed, thin-armed. About the outpost bird cherry captivity, the Komsomol district committee in the palisade, the ringing of guitars at the cemetery walls, the stars in ambush through the bushes! You can’t leave, you can’t give away, you can’t escape this oppression of youthful languor, this menacing sense of fate, so similar to inspiration. You seemed to be everywhere, fate: in a rusty war poster, in the stormy, explosive word “struggle”, alone at sunset. How fluffy the poplars are in spring, how insomnia is irresistible, how close the earth is at dawn, and how distant and beloved friends are. And love? Like air and light, like breath - everywhere with you, there is no end to it, there is no way out - oh her blue wing! That’s when I sing to you, call you my dear friend, my youth gone, fleet-footed, slender-armed...

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I. Bunin “Youth”

A long whip shoots in a dry forest, Cows rattle in the bushes, And blue snowdrops bloom, And an oak leaf rustles underfoot.

And rain clouds walk, And a fresh wind blows in a gray field, And the heart yearns in secret joy, That life, like the steppe, is empty and great.

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V. Khodasevich “No, youth, you were faithful to me”

No, youth, you were faithful to me, You did not lie, pretending, did not flatter, You took me into the crypt secretly at night and stood me by a dark window. We were lifted up by a heavy wave, We swayed by the dark abyss, And I was silent, and you were pale, You were moaning prostrate on the floor. My early fear rose at the window, Threatened to measure my whole life with madness... I saw faces, heard names - And ran away, not daring to know and believe.

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A. Gusev

In the loneliness of youth, thoughts were born about the absurdity of the world, the truthfulness of dreams, We tried very hard to understand this life, And the wind of freedom brought us joy.

After all, we learned to love and tried to make friends, Having no doubts, they crushed hearts, Those great years were given to happiness, How to believe that “we can’t drink water from our faces.”

Then we parted with each other with tears, and it seemed that the earth had floated away from under our feet. We were sad, we were sad, we suffered, we laughed, Realizing that the world was not very strict with us.

We submitted to any problems, any jokingly, Where are you, the good mercies of memorable days - Remained a light haze on a tired heart And now our life is undoubtedly poorer.

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L. Arvacheva “Youth one, youth two...”

Ah, our youth comes, kisses your nose... and leaves! There was a green trunk - young, but it was all covered with peel.

We don’t flinch when the nasty alarm clock rings... Now the phone is silent... It only rings on 03.

But what to do, gentlemen?! We will cheerfully wait for the Second Youth to come - It will bite somewhere and go away.

And we will stay again... To wait for the third one! The ringing of our doorbell will reawaken Hope, faith and love!!!

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A. Lyakhovetsky “About youth”

In the days of youth, a magical time, a world full of wonders and embellishments, we teach from the best textbooks, written only for us. We worship our deities: the freckled maidens of the earth. We crown them on the day of coronation, Excitedly, with our admiration. Brave, irrepressible in passions, Intoxicated by quick victories, In anticipation of an eternal holiday, We throw down the gauntlet to fate. And in speed, in full measure, our deeds will be rewarded! Brilliant awards jewelry Costs a ruble - not talent! But it was not in vain that they played tricks, They broke into the open door. We lived desperately cheerfully, as is hardly possible now.

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E. Sherman “In this life everything is still possible”

There is no way for us to repeat our life. Youth remains somewhere beyond the borders. It happened - we got into trouble... But our song is not fully sung,

And there is still an opportunity to change everything that we once failed. And you need to continue to dream and live, and not blame Fate for being to blame.

After all, there was a lot of good in life, and bright days, and passionate hobbies! And it’s not time for us to be discouraged yet - there are many adventures ahead!

We are young at heart – and that’s the point! And although, at times, it can be very difficult, And we cannot return the years of our youth, But in this life everything is still possible!

And, in general, life, of course, was a success! We didn't live all these years in vain! We have learned the sweetness of great love, And there are wonderful friends and children!

And we are still romantics at heart, capable of both crying and laughing! And even though we are no longer young, we still have a long time to live and enjoy!

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E. Safronova “Youth”

Fate forgives youth a lot - Mistakes, frivolity - not for the future. And not strict towards the recklessness of youth, Giving its life lesson. Beautiful, cheerful, carefree, They do not skimp on feelings and deeds. And they believe in their long-lasting vows, And they burn love fires to the ground. Oh, youth is an obstinate maiden, The whole world is new in your contrasts. And I would like to get drunk again, In your river without bottom and without edges.

Let the years go by like swallows fly, A woman’s age depends on her spirit, You can be young at fifty, And you can live like an old woman at twenty!

***

LADIES have their own immunity for their age! And the passport mark doesn’t bother you! We feel SO MANY YEARS LONG... As far as our Audacity ALLOWS!

***

In the ringing silence At the end of the night I write more and more often, But this time it’s shorter.

The rustle of falling leaves does not excite the soul. I need less and less, or rather, I need it.

Conscience does not disturb, Cats do not scratch. The story about the moon in the window does not lie.

Previously, the clink of glasses was freshly poured... And now, a bottle of beer has fallen from the floor.

***

You 're lying that I haven't aged. - Elastic belly, roundness... cheeks. Yuna. In some places. And completely. - Lie to me something else!

***

in the morning. Jogging. Yoga. Shower. For breakfast - a cup of coffee with chocolate. Yes, rhyming nonsense from the network. Even if it pricks a little under the shoulder blade, I am young at heart, like a chick, Although I am prone to generalizations. For example: Age is nonsense! It's all about self-fulfillment.

***

with age is aerobatics! The lady is always twenty, the rest is experience!

***

When I become old And I will be a hundred years old, My dear grandfather will come under my balcony with a guitar. Groaning, he will straighten his back, he will tighten his stomach, and he will sing a song about the moonlit, wondrous night. The tops of the blossoming linden trees will sway and freeze, and the old ladies of the neighborhood will die of envy.

***

It was just Wednesday. Suddenly Monday rushes by like an avalanche. The best years pass, the best men leave.

They leave once and for all. No, to stay for a week! Otherwise they disappeared without a trace, and I was left out of business.

***

When I have a lot of spring, And autumn gives way to winter, I will settle among the old pines, Behind the cliff above the river,

I’ll take glasses and a hockey stick with me, and definitely a LAPTOP, and maybe my grandson will pay for his old lady’s INTERNET ENTRANCE,

My whole life is cooking, washing, ironing, libido, makeup, subway... And I would like to open my soul wide open! And I’d like to ride a broom!

And old age will help me, It will open up a completely different world: I’ll probably get carried away with yoga, And I’ll become Baba Yaga...

***

Grandma left social networks And she was bored all through the holidays She doesn’t have any more friends, “Odnoklassniki” recently ended...

***

I still creak like Grandfather Pikhto, But my frame has been warped over the years. THIS goes away, and THAT, and THAT, and THIS goes away too.

Having uttered a farewell grunt and roar, THESE disappeared overnight. Some old man is sleeping nearby... But who is it? Fedya? Vasya?

I'll rub THIS sides. I’ll scream: “Give me back THIS and THAT!” And he will look down and say affectionately: “AND NOT”...

***

Tarushka dreams of the fine days that passed many years ago, when all the passers-by rushed to ask her to come to her boring garden.

Feminine cunning

My husband began to look at those who were younger, and “meant” my beauty. I take box tickets to the theater, I force my husband to the ballet.

We walk down the street, he’s half a step behind, nervously fiddling with my elbow, the poor fellow is tormented by jealousy - The men still don’t take their eyes off me.

It’s the same picture in the theater, Even in the foyer a start had been made, Half of the people in the hall don’t watch the ballet - I caught the eyes of all the men.

Now my husband doesn’t notice others, his soul and body are drawn to me. That evening I, he doesn’t know about it, made funny faces to the crowd.

***

When I become an old granny And can barely crawl with a stick in my hand, I’ll go to the beach and drown myself in the shallowest, smallest river.

The rescuer will swim up to me, trying to carry me to the shore as quickly as possible, hug me and, pressing his whole body, will carry me along the river like a burdock.

Then he’ll lay me down on the grass, put his ear to my dry breasts, and kiss me on the lips too…. People deserve mouth-to-mouth massage!

And he moves his arms up and down a little, And he gently unbuttons my jacket... And his legs would go up... Otherwise they won’t walk anymore. And grandma’s heart will come to life.

And then I’ll open my eyes, Glasses, of course, float in the water, And above me lies a fairy tale boy! Oh, there will be trouble early tomorrow!

I'll go to the beach and drown myself!

I will never be the same - a girl with a serene heart. I won’t become more beautiful or younger... But I won’t become stupid either!

***

If you too will be fifty, you won’t notice, brothers, It’s too late to understand your fate, Your organs are hanging sluggishly.

You too will be fifty, dear young maidens, the husband often looks to the left, the companion is completely exhausted.

It will be fifty dollars for you, Strange, funny and untrue. Girl, you're glad early. It is futile to prepare an escape.

Carrying your youth proudly, Hide your passport away, It’s better not to brag for years, You will be fifty too.

***

Do n’t curse your years in vain, And don’t stand in fear of the mirror. Believe that you are Truly beautiful with polished and mature beauty. This gift has been bequeathed to you by nature. Don’t hide it. Then everyone will surely believe that the best of women are born only after forty. Oh, how right the ancient paintings are, How the masters understood women. Oh, how Venus and Athens carry Their magnificent bodies.

***

As Basinger said to the goat, Dragging falsely into autumn, It’s better to be beautiful at 47, Than, sorry, ugly at 28.

***

They called me an old nag, And even though I am many years old, But buried in the country - A machine gun and a pistol.

If they mock me and count my years, I will defend myself, I am young at heart.

***

This secret, alas, is still unknown; Years will pass, I’ll play pats with my grandson - it’s not scary to be a cheerful, slender grandmother, but it’s scary to sleep with an old boring grandfather...

***

Sadness and melancholy eats me up, How can I cope with it? - My dear one called me smart, But she was a beauty...

***

Oh the days they say - what are your years! Is this really age - fifty! But there are such arrogant freaks who try to offend on the sly!

Call in the morning - How are you, old woman! A big and fiery hello to you!!! And how is life after fifty dollars? And I answered - Great, impotent!

And away we go - Are you fucking crazy!? Yes, I was brutal, handsome and male! Like a fighter, he has a pumped-up body, A youth at heart, a stallion in bed!!!

And according to Stanislavsky, I don’t believe it! You're casting a shadow on my fence again! If you are such a cool and important pepper, why do you call the old woman every day!?

The answer was short, simple and predictable - I’m calling to talk about life! How about some tea, coffee, and let's dance? I can come and visit you!

I didn’t even dare refuse the offer of a macho and handsome man, Brutal and a male in his prime, and purred tenderly in response.

Take a taxi, drive me my sweetie! There’s no point in beating each other’s ears, There are three old women sitting in the yard, So have a heart-to-heart talk with them!

***

with all my might - Let it catch your eye! Although over the years the speed is lower, But the brakes are more reliable!

***

At the command of nature, the vain years pass. They whisper to me: it’s time. And I cling to “yesterday”... And not nearby, next door - I’m falling straight... into childhood!

Men grow stupid every year, They get tired of family worries, And handsome men with the face of Quasimodo run to the young people to get their tone!

They try to cheer up the freshness of feelings and fallen libido with cognac, and, after preening for appearance, snack on a cucumber with Viagra!

Businessman and factory worker They began to take an example from those in power, Gives out ideas for the people From the Kremlin, a dashing pensioner!

What should we, beautiful women, do? If we are only fifty! After all, the Troubled Boys are still looking at us with a playful gaze!

Women, don't count your wrinkles! And don’t worry about your years! There is no reason to grieve and cry That crazy youth is gone!

Pugacheva, Demi Moore, Madonna boldly showered the youngsters! They injected Botex and silicone and saw those grandfathers in the coffin!

Don't lose your optimism ladies! God forbid your husband goes crazy. Charm and charisma will be useful to you! Yes, also..- a plastic surgeon!

***

Old age rolled up imperceptibly, treacherously punched me in the gut: Despite lethargy and fatigue, I began to look at the young.

And love, in the end, is unrequited. Mockery and revenge from above: I have joined the ranks of the most nasty, eternally rejuvenating brides.

***

So what if I’m over fifty, But I don’t lose quality, Because every time I’m afraid, it’s the last time... That’s why I do this!

***

And now we are already over 30. But tell me, how can we continue to live? There are fewer and fewer men who you want to achieve. There are more and more men who you want to finish off.

***

Over the years, every misfortune comes, When your temple turns grey... But you won’t fall on the ice, Because... sand is pouring in!

***

Oh , age, age! There are so many features in him - A tired, gray gait, A gentle light flows from sad eyes, the price of which is suffering. Over the years, the bridge of life becomes shorter and shorter, And the joys are more and more behind. The path to the past is tortuous and difficult and smells of regret and guilt. Remembering again the happiness of previous days, Without getting tired, we say “forgive” - After all, there is no “conscience without shadows” And what is broken cannot be saved. Let's continue to live while the traffic light is still giving us a green light. And let's stop the soul-sore argument With loved ones who are no longer there. Let's play, age, in "trifles" And throw off the bridge of repentance Grievances and other weeds, Clearing the places in our souls for love.

wish I could forget about the “terrible” age, About the fact that retirement is just around the corner, Get into the car, turn up the speed, And make a squealing turn,

To fly, without taking apart the roads, So that it takes your breath away, And, out loud, to sing and live, playing... What do I care about old women?..

Buy “ballet flats”, “top”, “capri pants” And get plastic surgery done seriously... Where did the drops go?.. I’m tormented by varicose veins again...

Perhaps I’ll lie down for an hour, take a nap for an hour and a half. My leg hurts, I can’t take a step, I’ll say goodbye to my dream... until the morning...

***

We , of course, are no longer princesses, Carelessness has long since flown away, But our play is not yet over, And the blizzard is still beating against the window.

I decided to powder the roads, so that fate could change the canvas. But we will drive away all worries, We became queens a long time ago.

And the stones in the crown sparkle, And the stole is embroidered with silver. And it’s comfortable to sit on the throne Among rubies, brocade and paintings.

And responsibility does not scare us, If there is a friend’s hand nearby. And so the soul expects miracles, As if thirsty for a sip of water!

***

I am at a wonderful age, all the draft has disappeared from my thoughts. And now I can say with pride; "Can! Want! I can! Know how…")))

***

At an age... He is not a hindrance for women. Who said that years age us? Our souls are suns in armor... And wrinkles are the rays of the eyes...

***

When we are forced from work to our well-deserved rest, we will not cry loudly. And even vice versa! As a parting word, someone will say that freedom is finally here! And someone’s ultimate dream is to retire from business for good.

Let's try to make plans - there is a lot to do. Fishing or hunting, taking my granddaughter to clubs... Or we can lie on the ottoman all day listening to TV series when we get kicked out of work...

Let's learn to live on.

***

the song: “At forty-five Baba Yaga again!” But I don’t understand yet - What does “dka” mean?

***

A woman has an age - on her birthday. In history so as not to lose track! It is also needed for self-respect - It’s so nice for them to measure wisdom!

He is definitely for a man who is older, well.. at least by five years - We will help him find the reason to realize his own happiness

There is an age for children and for mothers-in-law, - Yes, it’s better to know Mom’s age exactly: So that a compliment does not become a shed of blood, It would be more reasonable to subtract the years...

There is an age to a smile and a look - The resume of life is reflected in them. For wise optimism, they, as a reward, Sparkle like sparkling wine

There is an account of Victories - “Register of Conquests”. It’s more convenient to replenish. There is no counting of the possibilities of love sighs - you can’t exhaust them all!

You can’t hide a long tail of memories... But if you count the years of Life, Dividing It into nine, like a cat, - I am indecently young in each!

Our age does not change over the years!!! Let your passports burn in doubt! Men would give half the world to meet us! Half the country - for a languid look!

***

Over the years, age has come unprofitable, For a new sin when retribution is coming, It’s too late to blame everything on youth, And for now, it’s too early to blame insanity.

***

I ’ll look in the mirror - it’s no good to be sad, There is an answer to pessimism from me. Every day I am much younger than I will be in ten quick years!

***

WHEN I WILL BE A GRANDMOTHER

When I become an old grandmother, I will dye my hair purple. And I’ll throw my felt boots out of the house... Or maybe I’ll leave them for the summer. I'll get myself about five dogs, or maybe goats, on the fifth floor. And I will listen to how my fool neighbor curses me behind the wall. I’ll sleep during the day while everyone is at work, And at night, depriving these bastards of sleep, I’ll be a light angel in very heavy flesh, I’ll dance a waltz to the music of “Rammstein.” Yes, don’t forget to throw a ball filled with water and black mascara from the balcony when some little horse walks!!! To the request of my pathetic old lady: Like, look, my dear, I dropped it... What exactly, I don’t know yet. So, we need to book the door now... While I remember and think... I’ll be a very sweet old lady, Well, maybe a little gangster-like, And I’ll order myself a bronze hockey stick... Eh, the main thing is that my memory doesn’t get lost!

***

Life is an instructive thing! First, at thirty, someone is an old woman for you, and later, for everyone growing up, science... And at forty, for yourself, you are a young woman!

***

Biological chimes The alarm is getting louder every year. And it is unreasonable to argue with nature. We are amateurs in this debate.

You are like a prize given to me by fate. You're not seventeen either. Without unnecessary words and intonations, Let's fall in love, for God's sake!

There is so little time for passion. Come on, my friend, no etiquette. Let's skip the sweet bouquet. And let's move straight to the scandals.

***

Why dare I ask fate again, After all, she gave me so much! I’ll ask one thing: that she take me a little slower into old age!

***

When femininity is declining, you should not listen to other whiners. You are the queen of life experience, the queen of age categories!

Now it’s normal, breaking principles, to suffer from gluttony. When the broom no longer lifts, Tear up your rights - walk.

When youth “ends up”, the pressure is swaying and spinning, It’s not strawberries and cucumbers that will help, but a fresh and strong man!

When a man is not noticed nearby, (It’s quite understandable, the grip is not the same) Don’t hang your nose! Hold the purring and fat cat tightly to your chest.

And there will be a reason to solemnly say with a voice of steel OVER THE PILE OF BODIES: “Behold! Everyone who didn’t get us has dried up, And everyone who didn’t want us has died!”

***

What a fucking bitch you are... So, an aunt tortured by life. And my nerves are frayed. Only in stiletto heels the step is still clear. Evening - home, and in the morning - to work, Under the eyelash there is a lump of mascara... And in the eyes there is concern for everything, And a prayer: “Well, save my soul...” All in cleaning, cooking, washing, There are problems in my head even at night. Every day is like a carbon copy... And my soul still, damn it, wants a holiday. Instantly there is a wicked twinkle in the eyes, skilful make-up on the face, whiskey for the cat, cocoa for the children. To my husband - with a pen, saying that he is so sad! And with a friend after midnight in a bar, laughing, dancing, having fun! You're still very young! This is youth - slightly over thirty!

comes to us over the years But forgive the sarcasm Insanity prevents us from using it

Doctors were not able to treat Neurosis, fibrosis, my varicose veins, but as if by hand, I removed all the sores Sclerosis

with the sediment day and night. She wants to save up for her old age. Will she only be able to live to see it?

***

What the hell, we went to your dacha, And I’m not young for a long time, And you’re not a macho man for a long time.

Well, we got drunk, as always, In the morning the hangover is God’s punishment, And I’m no longer young, And the New Year is somehow old.

***

Birthday . The event is typical. But again I look with bewilderment: The numbers in the passport are simply indecent - Is this really the year of birth?!

This is probably a computer glitch (Technology is unreliable!), something was definitely mixed up, everyone understands that the third number is false.

I look at this sad number, And I sigh, and whisper furtively: Why don’t I feel like an old and grumpy partridge?

Maybe the malicious mirror flatters me? Or is the environment myopic? Maybe I don’t see the obvious in a completely undignified reflection?

Not the old woman Izergil, of course, I am, But not Scarlett (even though I love green), In some ways, without a doubt, successful, In some ways, unfortunately, deprived.

And I still can’t believe it, That they’ll add a middle name to “Elena,” And there’s not much to hope for (Even though I still want to dream like hell!)

But I don’t intend to whine and cry - Yaroslavna is not important to me. And I’ll tell myself confidently: I’m not a pterodactyl, I’m vintage!

***

We , women, cope differently over the years, fighting for beauty: One hides wrinkles behind glasses, Hiding fullness with a robe... Another - with a figure: a mini skirt... And it’s time for me to think about that, But I admit, I don’t agree with them, accepting their age with “Hurray”! Now, probably, someone will smile, But I’m trying to be friends with age... Wrinkles? Completeness? It's funny to fight and stay young... Why make people laugh? I will never agree to plastic surgery! Not because I’m cowardly - I now value not a person’s appearance, but the light of goodness flowing from the eyes!

***

Stay at home, grandson. Don't be sad without grandma! I wish I could spend my day differently today!

I don’t cook dinner, I have a better plan - I’m going to a restaurant with a grandfather I know!

We'll order champagne and some dessert. We are still very much with him! It’s okay that the hair is gray.

Because there is a reason for glasses on the table! We celebrate Valentine's Day in February!

So what if he’s not young, and I’m not twenty-five! Retirement is absolutely no reason not to celebrate Valentine’s Day!

***

my age not without pride, Although I have no merit in it: I can spit on many conventions From the balcony of the years I have lived through.

***

When I turn ninety, I’ll scribble a poem, About how difficult it was for me, To take a sip of a glass for the road. As they persuaded en masse, And I have pain in my stomach. And I galloped home, Where it was a pain to get a snack.

When I'm over ninety, I'll tell you frankly, How difficult it is to remember love, When I can barely breathe myself. But if you take a shovel in your hands and dig back many years, then all the young people will run away and my brother will choke!

We were building something big, It’s hot, and there’s a whole swarm of flies, And in the heat it’s twice as bad, When there’s no money to spare... In the virgin lands it was terribly boiling, Work, a tractor, a foreman! How difficult it was for a minute, for us to run to the toilet behind the tractor!

After all, young people need to know about everything, And I will pass on my experience to them, Like the night we sat next to our dear one, So that we can shout joyfully - I won’t let you! For the youth, I will write, How life was in the sanatoriums... The bourgeoisie will envy us - We had the opportunity to live as one family.

No one wanted to know what kind of blood you were and whose faith you were, As long as there were gentlemen, As long as you knew how to dance. And they ate, drank, and walked, and everything else was perfect! They didn’t widen the veins with a needle, but danced the Boston waltz...

And after the waltzes around the wards, they drank something there again. Always under the fly and in dressing gowns. The dancers cannot be shaken off with a stick! I will write about life, about construction, How we warmed ourselves with alcohol in the winter, About how we fell into bed... But the people are still alive!

Not everyone will live to be ninety, But if I do crawl, I’ll tell you: - Life wasn’t easy!!!... And I’ll wipe away a tear from melancholy!

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