It doesnt matter, what government we had, we have now or will have in the future.  Our land must be ours! For grandchildren to walk our ground! Even if my bones will have decayed by this time, Im ready for this. 


JANUARY OF THE DISGRACED FUNERAL FEAST

Stars were silent,
And a dead January gaze
Was oozing through the wounds,
Wounds of the earth and the skies.
Fan the fire,
Black winds of calamity,
Shoot arrows,
Cruelly thrust into the ground.

Stars were silent
In the fathomless night
Of the twisted veins
Of the disgraced funeral feast

Snowy mires,
Injuring arrows
Cover the ground
With the bodily leafage of thraldom.

Blow upon the stone,
An untouched womb,
Oh, my mighty winds
Strike like a ruthless gust

A January stare,
Furious and penetrating, 
A sanguine contour
Of an abstract painting

A poisonous whirlwind
Downfall of times of the space
The great funeral feast
Nothing and everywhere into infinity
Eternity is in the eternity
Without life and a drop of blood
Shoot arrows,
Frantically thrust into the ground.




VALLEY OF GLORY

Clang of tanks, clang of armour,
A terrible and heady roar,
Thunder of shots, explosions of shells,
Blood rained upon River Litsa.

Bullets lick the trees
Mayhem, fire, fire!
Blaze devours snow
Death is in the valley, death!

In a booming mess of the points-heights
Fortitude soldiers upholds,
Hurting eyes,
Volchja Sopka in blood soars.

In that battle all things messed up,
Sourness, fear and valour of people,
Only bared teeth of the cliffs
Deeds of bravery to mind bring.

Blood melts ice,
Madness, a severe pain,
Grape-shot armour bites,
Death is in the valley, death!

Scarlet snow fell,
And fire again, again!
Dropping dead, the enemy fell back.
As before, in the valley is death!



AN IRON STAR

Banners and anthems,
Bayonet and butts,
Military marches
At miserable times

Form and songs
Of the twilight days,
Quick preparations
To the gelid rivers

Heroism and feats
Of mere mortals,
Severe battles,
Fierce carnage

Totalitarian will
Is subtle and black,
Union of death
A five-point star

Belief of the soldiers
Is simple and pure,
What leads to fight
Is a read star

A cold stare,
Severe and many-sided,
What only warms my heart
Is my iron star



LESOMORIE.1

In forests of Death,
Perfectly silent,
In a veiled sphere
Of biting iciness

My arms 
Grasping roots
Veins of bark
In forests of Mor

Bleeding are 
The hearts cores
Lumps of bark
Are hard as stones

My hands
Tear and strangle
Rags of fear,
Skins of madness.

Carrion-crows
Like the unseen cloud
Shadow the unbidden
By pitch-black pinions.

Poisonous air
As stinging rime
Cold my body
Entwines

In roots of death saps revive, in circles of light are forces of might




VALLEY OF DEATH

It was September. Rain. Mud. Autumn. War.

A black march rushed here,
Covering the ground in graves,
Carrying a treacherous doom, 
But they broke in Terlands vales.

Steel eagles are in the autumn dusk,
Iron fishes are in the gelid waters,
On the ground is only blood-stained mud
That bedewed the peaks of the hills.

By rain of biting shells
They greeted our lands
And hearts of brave soldiers
That in the valley heroically fell.

Stahl Helm towered over the mounts
As the rod of freedom, might and power,
What ignored our mortal foe 
Is the fortitude of Russian soldiers

Four eternal years of cruel fights
In snows and sludge up to the ears
They failed a perfidious plan
Mutilated, perished in the vale.



A WHITE COLD

For hundreds ages upwards
Dissolve the still
Myriads of frigid sculptures,
Statues of a white cold

White cold
Hoar-hash shreds
Human souls and flesh
Wolf blizzard

Oblivion hour caught,
The world forever froze
Amid galaxies and comets
Wolf blizzards infant

Wolf blizzard
A monument will cast,
Crystal, ice and glass
Wolf blizzard

The world soars in the still,
Glitters with brashes of glacier,
Milliards of rigid figures
Of human disgrace

White cold
Wolf blizzard
White cold
Wolf blizzard



MARCH OF  MOURNFUL TEMPEST

Crawling away like the graveolent mists,
Dust of the foes broke in the cliffs,
Only wiped off the face of the earth
Maybe subhuman turned into human beings.

Rottenness washing away,
The northern rivers
Would unveil the grandeur of the land,
By the deep and original beaute 
Would of ugliness of soul cure.

Let the spirit,
By years of musing,
But perceive, having beauty absorbed,
Killing others, it also perishes,
Kills itself in the assault. 



A MINUTE

The midnight sun
Shudder
River of times
Scenes of the past needle with pain
Grape-shot pin
And a faintly heard moan
Of our dear land, gore-tilled

The swarm of vandals outnumbered,
But heart of beast shall not stay safe
Without glowing with noble fire
Hold at gun point of truth will they writhe.

