2 мин


A man is standing in the

His house not recognizing.

Her sudden leaving was a flight,

Herself, maybe, surprising.

The chaos reigning in the

He does not try to master.

His tears and headache hide in

The extent of his disaster.

His ears are ringing all day

As though he has been drinking.

And why is it that all the

Of waves he keeps on thinking?

When frosty window-panes blank

The world of light and motion,

Despair and grief are doubly

The desert of the ocean.

She was as dear to him, as

In all her ways and features,

As is the seashore to the wave,

The ocean to the beaches.

As over rushes, after

The swell of water surges,

Into the deepness of his

Her memory submerges.

In years of strife, in times which

Unthinkable to live in,

Upon a wave of

To him she had been driven,

Through countless obstacles, and

All dangers never-ended,

The wave had carried, carried her,

Till close to him she'd landed.

And now, so suddenly, she'd left.

What power overrode them?

The parting will destroy them both,

The grief bone-deep corrode them.

He looks around him.

On the

In frantic haste she'd

The contents of the cupboard,

Of stuff, her sewing patterns.

He wanders through deserted

And tidies up for hours;

Till darkness falls he folds

Her things into the drawers;

And pricks his finger on a

In her unfinished sewing,

And sees the whole of her again,

And silent tears come flowing.


Пастернак Борис

Произведения Бориса Пастернака. (29 января [10 февраля] 1890 — 30 мая 1960) — русский поэт, писатель и переводчик. Один из крупнейших русских по…

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