Treasure Island

Lyudmila Purgina

(Russian Federation)

A.Blok, Factory - translation (rus.)


In neighbour house windows're yellow.
In evening time - in evening time
The pensive bolts are creaking plaintively,
The people tend to go inside.

And gates are locked before the crowd,
High on the wall - high on the wall
Someone in black is staying motionless
And counting the people all.

I hear all from my top point:
He's calling them by copper voice
To bow their backs and lower,
Exhausted too in their force.

They'll come and rove within the building,
Will load sacks on their backs.
And somebody will laugh at windows -
For they've defrauded beggars yet.

Submitted: Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Edited: Thursday, August 01, 2013

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (A.Blok, Factory - translation (rus.) by Lyudmila Purgina )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Nothing but a Test, Kerri Foxx
  2. Hit the Goal, Aftab Alam
  3. No loss only gain, Aftab Alam
  4. Apple From A Tree, LaRon Green Sr.
  5. pyar ke ghronde me, Aftab Alam
  6. Forgetting past, Nick Kler
  7. Country in despair, Bernard Onoja
  8. Forgivness, Nick Kler
  9. Beauty, andrew reeves
  10. Sweet Mirage, Maureen Alikor

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]