But I, from poetry's skies, plunge into communism, because without it I feel no love.
They stood brow to brow, brown to white, black to black, he supporting her elbows, she playing her limp light fingers over his collarbone, and how he… - Vladimir Mayakovsky
They stood brow to brow, brown to white, black to black, he supporting her elbows, she playing her limp light fingers over his collarbone, and how he…
- Vladimir Mayakovsky
In the church of my heart the choir is on fire - Vladimir Mayakovsky
In the church of my heart the choir is on fire
But I, from poetry's skies, plunge into communism, because without it I feel no love. - Vladimir Mayakovsky
Listen! If stars are lit It means there is someone who needs it, It means someone wants them to be, That someone deems those specks of spit Magnifice… - Vladimir Mayakovsky
Listen! If stars are lit It means there is someone who needs it, It means someone wants them to be, That someone deems those specks of spit Magnifice…
The love boat has crashed against the everyday. - Vladimir Mayakovsky
The love boat has crashed against the everyday.
Art must not be concentrated in dead shrines called museums. lt must be spread everywhere – on the streets, in the trams, factories, workshops, and i… - Vladimir Mayakovsky
Art must not be concentrated in dead shrines called museums. lt must be spread everywhere – on the streets, in the trams, factories, workshops, and i…
Our planet is poorly equipped for delight. One must snatch gladness from the days that are. In this life it's not difficult to die. To make life is m… - Vladimir Mayakovsky
Our planet is poorly equipped for delight. One must snatch gladness from the days that are. In this life it's not difficult to die. To make life is m…
I want to be understood by my country, but if I fail to be understood - what then?, I shall pass through my native land to one side, like a shower of… - Vladimir Mayakovsky
I want to be understood by my country, but if I fail to be understood - what then?, I shall pass through my native land to one side, like a shower of…
On the pavement of my trampled soul the steps of madmen weave the prints of rude crude words. - Vladimir Mayakovsky
On the pavement of my trampled soul the steps of madmen weave the prints of rude crude words.
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