Two Weeks I Was a Married Man
Two weeks I was a married man.
It’s long enough to take a pen
And write at least some miser words.
Experiences bring new thoughts.
How did it happen? Every knows
That roses have some hidden thorns.
Let’s travel back in time. Imagine
A theater, a scene, an angel –
A lovely maiden from playbills.
Admires fall under her heels.
2 heels, but hundreds men and boys
Can’t wait to see her, hear her voice.
One of them, sitting on the right,
Is he who couldn’t but invite
Me to the first night of the show
Repeating all the shades of “Oh!”.
Some other admirations: “Wow!”
Looking at her. I don’t know how,
How can a man forget the world.
He said: - We love her!
- No, I don’t! – There was a scream right in his ear.
- Why me? I’m tired, hungry, busy.
A woman cannot make me dizzy!
Some flowers were resting near.
Some flowers… hundred and one rose.
Was my friend going to propose?
If yes, I had to save the friend.
He didn’t. Thank you, God, for that!
- Oh please, present her all my flowers
After the show.
- Oh, helpless lovers!
OK, hair-splitting things like that
- And kiss her hand!
So, I was waiting at the door
To give her the roses. Nothing more.
She said when walking down the stairs,
A princess from a restless palace:
- Oh, taxi! Thanks! Where is the car?
Can’s see it. Why to park so far
- Sorry. One good friend
Asked me to give you a present.
I’m not a taxi-driver, sorry.
But I can give a lift…
- Don’t worry!
I’ve asked the car to drive me home.
Along the streets so tired to roam…
However, is there sense to wait?
It is the thing I really hate.
Assistants filled the car with flowers
From secret lovers. Countless lovers.
Sure, she was tired. Hardly walked.
I drove her home. She didn’t talk.
Her house. Big bunches everywhere.
She asked me if I could repair
The wardrobe-door. I did. No wonder.
She – half with me, half in a slumber,
Was generous with tea and sweets.
But I had to drive home indeed.
What’s going on? There’s no petrol!
I’m back to her. Knock on the door:
- I’m very sorry breaking rules…
Where can I get the nearest fuels?
She answered that it didn’t matter.
Her tiny house could be my shelter.
You understand, my mind was twisted,
And I refused. But she insisted!
I took a look into her eyes…
Both Hell and Heaven would surprise.
I took her hand. How small it was!
I kissed her mildly on the nose.
Farewell, what’s called a piece of mind.
There’s something different deep inside.
[The censorship forbids (that’s right!)
To write some words about the night…]
Two weeks I was a married man,
Woke up each morning with my Ann.
The victory was hers. Two weeks
I was the one for her to fix
All the devices she has broken.
Oh, did she really love my rock-n-
Roll being not mean and shy?
I’m sure she did. But don’t know why.
I played her songs of Motorhead.
Such lullabies she’d never had!
The neighbors thought that I was mad.
And she was eating ice-cream pie.
If years pass, she’ll be the same.
I whispered letters of her name
Giving some papers to the flame –
Forgotten poems doomed to die.
She loved the smell of cigarettes
(But never did her lovely cats).
She cooked the most delicious dishes
And made come true my secret wishes.
We danced, learned poems, played the piano,
And I enjoyed her fine soprano.
An actress can’t fail to impress.
Each night she had a brand new dress.
The taste of honey on her lips,
Red-nailed sugar fingertips…
Oh Lord! Her beauty was divine!
Tremendous was the crimson wine,
Brandy and whiskey, gin and rum…
I haven’t even seen her mum!
Eternal lake of inspiration
Drove me in passion. New dimension
Of feelings made my soul sincere.
Oh sweet disease to have her near
With me. The flesh is to control,
But it is week. So is my soul.
Two weeks too weak I was to stop.
No way. I had to cut the rope.
She’s not a pompous kitchen lady.
But I’m afraid I’m still not ready
To share the space under one roof.
A desperately lonely wolf.
2 weeks together with a lady
And cats: Maria, Olvas, Teddy.
Delicious breakfast, dinner, supper…
But not in freedom I do suffer.
It’s hard to leave her cosy place…
Oh snow-white paleness of her face!
I used to kiss her tender eyes.
Because of me this lady cries.
Because of me her heart’s to bleed.
But it was she, no doubt in it,
Who took first steps. How could she dare?
‘cause I am destined to beware
Of love. It gave me bitter lessons.
Oh save me, Heaven, from there passions!
But life goes on. A dozen songs.
More than three hundred sixty dawns
Lost in the air, time and space…
A year ago I left her place.
Forever travel. World-wide cruise.
Now every day – another muse –
A kind of a little resurrection,
But never – closer to perfection.
Is it subconscious or just human
To make a toy of every woman?
A year. I feel myself since then
A real devil of the man.
Two weeks I was a married man.
It couldn’t last a minute longer.
Mo woman dwelling in my heart.
Ho feelings tearing me apart.
Am I a bastard saying that
It made her little stronger?
Behind the stages she’s a girl
Sincerely smiling. Not a role
Reveals the things she has inside.
Her real face she’s doomed to hide.
It is the way to win the bread.
Sometimes she’s sad because of that.
No lust for riches. Nonetheless,
She had a dream of a wedding dress.
Seems like she’s wearing chamomiles.
Her name highlights newspapers’ lines.
It’s like a deafening clap of thunder.
Right now my temperature – no wonder –
Is high above the norm. It feels.
And Anny will not bring the pills,
Won’t cure me with a cup of tea.
I’m getting older. She’s eighteen.
Forever young, forever strong,
Forever dancing all night long.
She’s princess-like, behind the curtain,
As if a little bit uncertain,
She treads. Determined eyes and steps.
Fantastic dressing. And perhaps
She’s happy playing such a role.
(There’ll be no need of a parole))
Fabulous guests, expensive car.
Her husband is a movie star.
Drunk fountains – noble sweet champagne.
She is the same. Just changed surname.
I hope she’ll never do regret.
Be careful, man! Don’t make her sad!
Even if you can lose your crown,
I beg, don’t let this woman down.
I thank my lucky stars for that,
For being a little mad. A hand
Is free from rings. What can be better
Then home alone, burning a letter.
And if I’m howling at the Moon
Behind the highest sandy dune,
Or on a highest stony cliff, -
It’s just a wolf-like way to live.
Toutes les droites appartiennent à son auteur Il a été publié sur e-Stories.org par la demande de Lianna Fox.
Publié sur e-Stories.org sur 14.01.2015.