March 23rd

Darkness, cold and water,

the rain of the trenches of the bay,

the shriveled fighter has lost a foot.

Babakh gats

there is an echo in the field,

nature in winter hibernation,

without flowers, everything is empty,

everything dead, and not alive.

Spring did not enter into rights

having adoring spring

never wait for her,

it’s time to expel the enemies.

A volunteer takes the stocks to the front,

they talk about a counterattack

anyone: rulers, shopping guards, and provincial mayor.

I want to pinch myself

to think about the dream and martyr’s horror,

there is a dead fighter,

there is a lost fighter,

and ashes scattered by relatives.

~

Prison hero

Cutting off the head of a Ukrainian fighter,

recruited Butsegar drug addict,

subscribed, you ignorant

under the Prigozhin Wagner deception.

Thought you would go down in history

as the famous liquidator of the Nazis?

Look, in the steppes of Primorye

the Buryat brothers,

comrades of the Rashists are rotting.

Propaganda howls in Moscow,

collecting murderers

a hot ballad awaits them,

the raping temptation of Ukrainian buttocks.

~

Two-faced world

Indifference is the perfect modernity,

she consumed the taste of criminal acts

she is going into oblivion,

and with them the greatness of the truth, is it so?

As black and white colors turned gray today

as good and evil – that is already a separate matter,

she flies here and there like a bird.

Empty words are almost the norm,

balm warms selfishness,

«one fighter in the field» has a different form,

international friends, let’s cherish despotism.