Violin And A Little Nervous

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Violin was torn to pieces begging,
And then broke out in tears
So childishly,
That Drum couldn't handle it any longer,
“It's all right, it's all right, it's all right!” He got tired, Not hearing out Violin's speech, and Sneaked out to the Kuznetsky, And made off. The orchestra looked strangely, as Violin cried herself out — Wordless — Without tempo — And only somewhere Foolish Cymbals Were banging out: “What is it?” “How is it?” Then when Helicon — Copper-faced — Sweating — Shouted: “Stupid! Softy! Wipe it off!” I got up, Shaking, crawled over the notes, Bending low under the horror of the pupitre, For some reason cried out, “Oh, God!” Threw myself at her wooden neck, “Violin, you know? We are so alike: I do also Shout — But still can not prove anything either!” The musicians are laughing: “Gotcha! He's dating a wooden girlfriend! Smart one, ha!” I don't give a damn! I am worthy! “You know what, Violin? Why don't we — Move in together! Ha?”

© Vladimir Mayakovsky