In foreign goragorskaya the face of foreign cities:Quiet streets, parks and squery imposing the mists of the predawn dreams of Hurrying hands — on hadiqah faith And past the shadows rustling behind him,to the secrets of gliding, grinning theatrically In other cities delirious tales of the night,giving birth to poetry without screaming makeup painfully familiar Rassvet Admit of open Windows, Wash all the letters In strange cities where we are not,Where the twisted memory of the withered leaves