The theme, about which the poet wants to speak, is sung many times. He himself circled in her poetic squirrel and wants to spin again. This theme can even push a cripple to the paper, and its song will ripple in the sun. In this subject, truth and beauty are hidden. This topic is preparing to jump in the recesses of instincts. Having made a statement to the poet, this topic throws people and affairs by storm. A knife to the throat comes up this topic, whose name – love!
The poet tells about himself and his beloved in a ballad, and the ballads are getting younger, because the poet’s words hurt. “She” lives in her house in Vodopyan Lane, “he” sits in his house by the phone. The inability to meet becomes a prison
The poet remembers himself – such as he was seven years ago, when the poem “Man” was written. Since then, he is not destined to crawl into the everyday life, into family happiness: he tied the ropes of his own lines to the bridge over the river and waited for help. He runs through the night Moscow – along Petrovsky Park, Khodynka, Tverskaya, Sadovaya, Presnya. On Presnya, in a family burrow, his relatives are waiting for him. They are happy about his appearance on Christmas, but they are surprised when the poet calls them somewhere for 600 miles where they have to save someone standing over the river on the bridge. They do not want to save anyone, and the poet understands that relatives replace love with tea and darning
Through the Presnensian mirages the poet comes with gifts under his arms. He is in the philistine house of Fekla Davidovna. Here, the angels turn pink from the iconic gloss, Jesus bows kindly, lifting a thorny wreath, and even Marx, harnessed in a scarlet frame, drags the shoulder straps of obedience. The poet tries to explain to the townsfolk what he writes for them, and not because of personal whims. They, smiling, listen to the famous buffoon and eat, rattling the jaw on the jaw. They are also indifferent to a man tied to a bridge over the river and waiting for help. The poet’s words pass through the townsfolk.
Moscow recalls the picture of Becklin’s “Island of the Dead.” Once in the apartment of friends, the poet listens as they laugh with a laugh about him, without stopping to dance the step-to-step. Standing at the wall, he thinks of one thing: if only he does not hear the voice of his beloved. He did not change it in any of his poems, he circumvents them in curses, by which the vulgarities are horrible. It seems to him that only a loved one can save him – a man standing on the bridge. But then the poet understands: for seven years he stands on the bridge as the redeemer of earthly love, to pay for everyone and cry for all, and if necessary, should stand for two hundred years, not expecting salvation.
He sees himself standing over the mountain Mashuk. Below – a crowd of inhabitants, for whom the poet – not a verse and a soul, but a century-old enemy. It is fired from all rifles, from all batteries, from each Mauser and Browning. The Kremlin shines with a red flag.
He hates everything that has been driven into people by the slaves who left, that settled and settled down even in the red flags. But he wholeheartedly believes in life, in this world. He sees the future workshop of human resurrection and believes that it is he who has not lived and does not share his, the people of the future will want to resurrect. Maybe his beloved will be resurrected, too, and they will catch up with the starry innumerable nights. He asks for a resurrection, if only because he was a poet and waited for his beloved, throwing back his everyday nonsense. He wants to live his life in a life where love is not a servant of marriages, lusts and breads, where love goes the whole universe. He wants to live in a life where his father will at least have peace, and the mother – at least the earth.