Mayakovsky’s poem “Good Attitude to Horses” about a horse that fell in the street

Hooves were beating. As though they sang:
"Mush-
room.
Plun-
der.
Tomb.
Rude."
Drunk with the wind,
shod with ice,
the street was sliding.
A horse on her croup
crashed down,
and at once
one idler after another idler,
who had come to flap their trousers about Kuznetsky,
crowded together,
laughter rang out and jangled:
"A horse has fallen!"
"The horse has fallen!"
Kuznetsky laughed.
Only I
did not mix my voice into its howl.
I went up
and I see
the horse's eyes…
The street had turned over,
flows in its own way…
I went up and I see:
drop after huge drop
rolls down the muzzle,
hides in the coat…
And some common
animal anguish
splashed out of me
and spread in a rustle.
"Horse, don't.
Horse, listen:
why do you think you are worse than they?
Little one,
we are all a bit horses,
each of us is a horse in his own way."
Perhaps
she was old
and had no need of a nursemaid,
perhaps my thought seemed vulgar to her,
but
the horse
lunged,
stood up on her feet,
neighed
and walked off.
Swishing her tail.
A ginger child.
She came back cheerful,
stood in her stall.
And it all seemed to her
that she was a foal,
and life was worth living,
and work was worth doing.

Literal translation

Kind Treatment of Horses. Vladimir Mayakovsky.

Illustration: Yuly Petrovich Sheynis