Now itís not a time for grinning, ĎRound the building I now stroll; This yearís blunders arenít forgiven, Way too many, on the whole. Every step - another error, As if itís a prison yard. The vulgarity of panels1 Stares at me from left and right.
1 As in panel buildings.
© Kirill Tolmachev. Translation, 2021