***
How can you sing
these words
at the height of glory,
don’t you see
that all our vowels
are shot through
within them?
What remains?
Only the nightmarish
raids
and tears that look
like the despair
of cranberries,
red with pain.
One more chapter
of a bloody
and deceitful life is read.
And you say
in the boiling Hell
of misfortunes,
what a happiness
after all,
that we are still alive
in the plain sight
of death itself.
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.…