Our room

I quietly whispered evening hall
reproachful tone, babysitting lovingly:
– “Why do you wander around the house, as if
Only in the morning coming from the station?

Disorderly pile of scattered things,
views, how disheveled dusty notes!
Though as before bowing look you in the window,
But your steps dimensional sharper.

In this dormant house you like a stranger,
Like a sad guest, without the power to the pleasures.
Nobody meet excited laugh,
No one is sad, seeing.

Many women have seen in a long life I,
– In this house of flour, Alas, not random! –
I in October evening heavy secrets
Not one confided, yearning.

ABOUT, do not be scared of me, Do not resist stubbornly:
As the centenary hall heed every!
Tell me everything, all told one
I'm your mother alone.

I follow thee watchful eye,
Unburden themselves story neskoro!
Why is not he with you, that nice, which
Have you ever dreamed of here next?”

– “To the brave souls, doers only passion Velenje,
he sped away, in my not waiting for high tide.
I decisive evening was fearful,
these flour – my redemption.

This late I reproach soul bound,
As a traitor threw her on the straw,
And now I'm heartless wandering around the house,
As if the morning came to the station”.

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Marina Tsvetaeva
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