По небу тучи бегают, Дождями сумрак сжат, под...

Clouds running across the sky
Rainy dusk is compressed
under the old cart
workers are lying.

And hears a proud whisper
water both above and below:
"Four years later
there will be a garden city! "

Dark lead
and the rain is thick as a tourniquet
workers are sitting in the mud
they sit, they plait a splinter.

My lips are draining from the cold
but lips whisper in harmony:
"Four years later
there will be a garden city! "

Cramped up chastity -
unimportant wet coziness,
the workers are sitting in the dark
drenched bread is chewed.

But whispers are louder than hunger -
he drops drops falling:
"Four years later
there will be a garden city!

Here the explosions cry
To disperse the bear gangs
And mine will subsoil mine
Coal "Giant".

Here the construction sites will stand up.
Beeps, steam, sipy.
We are a hundred suns martin
Flammable Siberia.

Here they will give us a good house
and sieve without soldering,
Already cast off Baikal
The taiga will move back. "

The whisper of the worker grew
Over the darkness of fat herds
and then inaudible,
only heard - "garden city".

I know the city will be
I know the garden is blooming
when such people
in the country in the Soviet Union is!

V. Mayakovsky. 1929 year