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Gunpowder in the eyes

Blood on the lips

Lie in the ground

And not breathe

Gunpowder in the eyes

Blood on the lips

Lie in the ground

And not breathe

Gunpowder in the eyes

Blood on the lips

Lie in the ground

And not breathe

Gunpowder in the eyes

Blood on the lips

Lie in the ground

And not breathe

This is not Russian poetry in a friend's entryway

This is Russian poetry with a razor to the throat

The sky is covered with a holey film

A hand obediently twitches, slitting the throat

Not hearing the voice of conscience, to kill a child, piercing an angelic face with a sharp needle, throwing myself into the arms of the damp old earth, arms spread out

to lie as if on a cross

The sun is so bright, blinding my eyes, I squint

I lie in a dug-up body Filled with worms

The mouth smiled as soon as it died

Flowers reach for the sky from the eye sockets of forgotten streets

A beam shoots into a cloud of newborn buds

Beckons the unbridled apostles with light

With a pale, trembling palm

They run their hands over their cheeks

The devastated body is thrown to the flowers

Gunpowder in the eyes

Blood on the lips

Lie in the ground

And don't breathe

Gunpowder in the eyes

Blood on the lips

Lie in the ground

And don't breathe

Gunpowder in the eyes

Blood on the lips

Lie in the ground

And don't breathe

Gunpowder in the eyes

Blood on the lips

Lie in the ground

And don't breathe