Nocturne By Vladimir Mayakovsky
I oiled the card of daily being
splashing the paint from glass; I pointed
slanting cheekbones of ocean streaming
on plate of jelly, I was joyed
to read the calls of some new lips
on tin fish scales; oh, it is cute,
But could you play Nocturne on ribs
of very noisy drainpipe flute?
P.S. My translation of poem by Vladimir Mayakovsky
Copyright © Serge Lyrewing | Year Posted 2016
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