Itís time to go - or to lie in a grave! Itís bad, but our choose is so poor - Just slow life is expected - and no wave, And chains are holding us within, for sure. Somebody may believe in true, but when No understanding, only crazy nonsense is laid: Isnít the real life, when you are in chains? Isnít the real choosing when you are handcuffed? And merciful care to us is so deceiving: Like the potion, which warlocks cooked before? The death from friends behind the stone is living, And death from enemy is waiting long ago. The sole is numb, and ache in body feels, And we are silent like the dummy pawns And we may see through the dirty windshield: The shameful life is watching us and laughs. And I believe, managing breaks the tights We probably may slush the throats then To somebody who dared, who decided Attach us to this life by rusty chains. Do we still live believing in hope? Or maybe chains are not ready for teeth, no time to wait - And our wounded knuckles are still knocking On heavy brass plates, covering the heaven gate? We were proposed how to end war - But price has raised unreasonably high - And for the treachery we only have a reward - Be sentenced to long and peaceful life.         But itís too early to think we are dirt: We will not make the nests on rotten mud - We wonít survive by our painful life - We rather end by clean death, as decided.
© Dmytro Bryushkov. Translation, 2023