Sacred Haven of Debauchery

Oh, how I long to return,
Oh, how I long to burst into the small town.
To our street with three houses,
Where everything is simple and familiar, for a day.

Where people visit without asking,
Where there is no envy or malice.
My dear home,
Where they celebrate births
And bid farewell to everyone together.

Time, time, the snow swirls,
And the neighbors have moved away, each to their own place.
And when they demolished the houses,
You and I, my friend, joked:
It's not a big deal.

Once a year, a meager letter,
Greetings for Christmas
And long life.
Exactly eight wild lines
And a different kind of handwriting,
That's it, goodbye.

Only in dreams do faces appear,
I can't recognize half of them,
The light is bright.
A year has passed, I open the mailbox - two newspapers.
No letters.

Water is a hundred times better than buckwheat porridge.