Poems about the Soviet passport – Vladimir Mayakovsky


I would be a wolf
bite
bureaucracy.
To the mandates
no respect.
Any
to hell with mothers
to roll
any piece of paper.
But this ...
On a long front
compartment
and cabins
official
courteous
движется.
Hand over passports,
and I
rent
my
purple book.
To one passports -
smile at the mouth.
To others -
attitude is trivial.
With respect
take, eg,
passports
with a double
English left.
Through the eyes
good uncle after leaving,
не переставая
to bow,
take,
as if they are taking a tip,
passport
American.
In Polish -
look,
like a goat on the poster.
In Polish -
bulging eyes
in tight
police elephantiasis -
from whence, breakwater,
and what is this
geographic news?
And without turning
head of cabbage
and feelings
no
I did not find out,
take,
did not blink,
Danish passports
and different
other
Swedes.
And suddenly,
as if
burn,
рот
curve
lord.
it
Mr. clerk
beret
my
a red-skinned passport.
Takes -
like a bomb,
takes -
like a hedgehog,
like a razor
double-edged,
beret,
like a rattlesnake
at 20 sadness
snake
two-meter high.
He blinked
meaningful
porter's eye,
at least things
will bring you a burden.
Gendarme
interrogatively
looks at the detective,
detective
of the gendarme.
What delight
gendarmerie caste
I would be
whipped and crucified
for it,
what's in my hands
hammer,
sickle
Soviet passport.
I would be a wolf
bite
bureaucracy.
To the mandates
no respect.
Any
to hell with mothers
to roll
any piece of paper.
But this ...
I
take out
wide leg
duplicate
priceless cargo.
Read,
envy,
I -
гражданин
Soviet Union.

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