* * *
Creator,
take me through
the war
to the shore of childhood,
where so beautiful and naive
Life began,
where the toy days
not knowing tiredness
in the toy war,
had the upper hand
and won, won.
Creator,
transfer me, my Fatherland,
my Country through Hell
of war,
through the fate of my sins
to that land
where are heavenly dreams,
and no war,
where is the illusory Paradise,
ghostly
but still Paradise.
Translated by Natalia Ogienko.
* * * Pre-war summer of booksellers. Time has passed, and a happy life has…
The long, lonely streets of time - manic and tragic with chimes with chimes beating…
* * * Prediction as prayer - white magic rebellion over the madness of black…
Is it possible to know oneself to such depths where the light of knowledge of…
* * * Fraternisation of the Third Rome with the second Babylon-- Sodom and Gomorrah.…
Destiny, change the record. Our traitor boys have enough black things to do without you.…