Longissima via

 Streets, filled with human noise,
streets where the defeated were shot,
The streets are, which endless, like the lives of saints,
in the bluish dawn haze.
When a new morning is born over the city -
the rainy morning of nineteen thirty-six.
Probably like "morning of the Spaniard Federico Garcia Lorca",
Which he could observe from the windows of his apartment,
In the silence and the audible rustle of orange leaves
As if during lectures at the university.
And we are left with only beautiful legends about death
And several poems dedicated to the death of the Spanish poet.
But hardly anyone would have thought about this death itself,
remembering that we are talking about some Spanish poet,
Who lived in the twentieth century and
died in the twentieth century -
The meaning of the same event
Sometimes it depends on the difference of tastes,
as well as political views
and the roads leading into the unknown
On the cold, dank morning of September 19, 1936.