The Death of the Dictator

February 18, 2008


“The second half of the 20th century will be significant for the disappearance of the political dictators.”
The Press

It is very dangerous at dawning.
You don’t know what the dictator
Is thinking at dawning.
He hadn’t slept well –
The subterranean kingdom roars in his head.
Moths
With dead heads on the wings
Wait for his signature.
The arm is weak.
The desk is far
at the horizon of the room.

Beyond the walls
the peoples leave for work.

Here are only the lackey and the doctor.
The dictator opens his eyes.
The doctor – useless forever.
The lackey – faithful for one minute more.

Loneliness.
A whole life of loneliness
And now again loneliness.
There are some drops left from the world, though,
to have in complete secrecy.

– God, am I that sinful?

Whose voice flew by?

The hand reaches for the nothing
and the wrist falls in the bed
like a mouse.

The people has been amnestied.

Look, how strange! – He’s just a small man,
Almost like a child’s shoe!

History closes the eyelashes –
Tow pages of death.

Teachers of history!
Test our children very thoroughly!
Mothers, beware!
Giving birth is dangerous!

1966

прочети в оригинал
lire en francais

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