The Black Man Puart 2 by Sergei Esenin

My friend, my friend,

I am very, very ill.

I don't know where comes from. this pain.

Either the wind whistles

Over the empty, deserted field,

Or, like a grove in September,

Alcohol showers my brain.

A frosty night...

The quiet peace of a crossroads.

I am alone at the window,

Awaiting neither guest nor friend.

The entire plain is covered

With loose, soft lime calx,

And the trees, like horsemen

Have gathered in our garden.

Somewhere

A inauspicious place night bird is crying.

The wooden horsemen

Sow a clattering hoof.

There goes that black one again

Sitting down in my chair,

Lifting his top hat

And casually throwing back his frock coat.

“Listen, listen! —

He wheezes, looking me in the face,

He himself gets closerly

And leans closer. —

“I have never seen ealse

Reprobate,

Suffer from insomnia so stupidly and needlessly.

Ah, let's say I was mistaken!

After all, it's moonlight today.

What else does

This drowsy little world need?

Perhaps, with thick thighs,

She will secretly come inway

And you will read

Your, languid lyricis deed.

Ah, I love poets!

Amusing people.

In them I always find

A story familiar to my heart,

Like a long-haired freak

Speaks of worlds to a pimply female student,

And drainig from sexual exhaustion for start.

I don't know,

I don't remember,

In a certain country,

Pwerhaps in Kaluga,

Or perhaps in Ryazan,

There lived a boy

In a simple peasant family,

Yellow-haired,

With light blue eye blaze on.

And now he's grown up

And also a poet middle sort,

Although with a small,

But tenacious power,

And some woman,

Over forty years old

He called an   infamous  girlie

And his sweetie dear."

"Black man!

You're a nasty guest!

This fame has long been spreading

About you."

I'm furious, enraged,

And my cane flies most

Straight to his face

At the bridge of his nose hooking…

...The crescent has died,

Dawn is shining blue through the window.

Oh you,night!

What have you night just messed!

I'm standing here in a high-hat ,

No one's with me now,

Ah, I am alone…

And—a broken mirror-glass...