By Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
Such a violet west is oppressive,
As the shake of a hand in the lead.
We are flying constantly forward –
Executors of will of the bad.
We are not many. The smoky raincoats.
Fire’s sparkling and chain mails are shining.
We raise ash on the north,
Leave the azure behind.
We are setting the thrones for other time –
Who would then be on those dark thrones?
All had cut their soul in two halfs,
Had established the double laws.
No one know end of affair.
And confusion replaces the joy.
The true guessing was really there –
Deadman’s flying ahead in the gorge.
14/05/1904
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