/Поглед.инфо/
The world is thundering and we have already become deaf
from news, from speeches and events.
The news hits like lightning.
And you are already indifferent to everything.
Europe is lost in destruction,
for the hundredth time under battle flags.
Paris is dead. London in desolation
tear down for all time.
An ugly and fanatical leader
draws a cross sign next to both poles.
It has been decided that today not from volumes
Europe needs bayonets.
What, that they breathed this air here
Rembrandt and Huss, and Kant, and Dostoevsky?
With a bayonet, Europe points convincingly
of its culture and its progress.
Will it be the sunset of the West,
or a new world under thunder will be born…
The world is thundering and we are already deaf,
alas, they have become insensitive to everything.
2
They were very small, but they were building
your railways, your cities.
They mined your land for ore.
With tractors, with plows and heroism
they laid waste your fallow land, your plains,
hoping you don’t kick them
to pass them by like pitiful dogs –
your workers, O Europe.
And here you are paying for your sins.
Forgot that there is justice
spoiled, sophisticated and greedy,
you sucked gold from the continents.
He was picking dates and diamonds,
cocoa, fruit, iron, coal,
tossing a measly sou
in the eyes of the cattle –
to your workers, Europe.
Now you’re hiding pathetic and scared
in the dark dungeons of London.
You don’t yawn boredly behind the fan,
you don’t listen to jazz and you don’t dance anymore.
Thunder is your music now
the fires – your worthy decor.
But again, alas, they die because of you
under the roar of the bombs torn apart –
your workers, O Europe.
3
I do not despise your peoples.
And I believe, you are already agonizing.
Not on the corpse of his workers
you will end your career as a predator.
The hands that build will tear down
and the whole earth will become another.
But you killed me, Europe-witch.
Over your cauldrons of blood and gold
I was breathing alcohol fumes.
I danced, sang, wrote poems.
And here I am now older than you
and like you threatened with destruction.
The wise men over my poems
they will smile wisely, they will pass away.
“Reactionary poet” – they will talk.
They will not miss the opportunity for sure
to talk about upgrades, bases.
They will continue to argue about Hitler.
They will live in their sublime
street appeal aesthetics.
Europe-predator, you have sons –
herds loquacious and dumb.
Oh, let them be manure at least
for a better and fruitful future.
You writhe, die and curse.
I hope your shit ends with you, witch.
And I will die from my wound.
#Europe #Predator #View #Info
