Манускрипт VI (Предпоследний)

...I've cried my cry, I've weep'd my weep.
I've tried to hide it, tried to keep
That stiff enchancted world of mine
Which thou durst not to determine.
It had been born as gift to you,
If only you'd let me get through...
But you had gone yet, you had flew! –
And part of it you took with you.
Should it have been its greatest part?
'Twas nothing else but my poor heart!
And since that nought in me preserves
Except my eerie fev'ring nerves.
Why did not you let me get near?
Maybe you read intentions queer
Inside me? But there was no black,
'Twas caused more likely of a lack
Of life, of living in my mind...
But now my mind is left behind.
And thus – no is, but desp'rate was.
Oh, how I wish I could explose
And all my flesh, my blood and brain
Could fall on you like fertile rain,
My purple goddess, and you'd saw
The sad insideness that I bore
Within according to my fate –
To bear but not to tolerate.
Thou madness resting 'mid her breasts!
I'd give thee better place to rest!
It's in my brain – which's ready now
To melt the skull with fretful glow.
Come, I don't care, I will not mind
Since everything have left behind.
I'm merely now a living dead.
If even I am not as mad
As it's enough for thee to dwell –
I'm going madder now so well
With every moment of delay
Of the long-waited funeral day.
The God of Love! The God of Dark!
The God of Blood! The God of Fuck!
The God of red hot tight wet Womb!
Forgive me in my shallow tomb!
Thou art almighty power alone!
The sin of shameful shyness shown
Thou canst forgive if only wish;
Restore me as thy sacriliege!
Consume me with thy holy ring!
But thou'st accursed my filthy sting;
Thou made me thy condemned foe,
That is the cause of hopeless woe.
And nothing in the swarming worlds
Now can suspend the death that swirles
High in the sky like leaden cloud;
Here comes an hour; he's laughing loud...
I'm sick of dying and that disease,
I know, can get no mean to ease,
No remedy...

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© Stepan M. Pechkin, 1989