Scythians You are millions. We are hordes and hordes and hordes. Try and take us on! Yes, we are Scythians! Yes, we are Asians - With slanted and greedy eyes! For you, the ages, for us a single hour. We, like obedient slaves, Held up a shield between two enemy races - The Tatars and Europe! For ages and ages your old furnace raged And drowned out the roar of avalanches, And Lisbon and Messina’s fall To you was but a monstrous fairy tale! For hundreds of years you gazed at the East, Storing up and melting down our jewels, And, jeering, you merely counted the days Until your cannons you could point at us! The time is come. Trouble beats its wings - And every day our grudges grow, And the day will come when every trace Of your Paestums may vanish! O, old world! While you still survive, While you still suffer your sweet torture, Come to a halt, sage as Oedipus, Before the ancient riddle of the Sphinx! Russia is a Sphinx. Rejoicing, grieving, And drenched in black blood, It gazes, gazes, gazes at you, With hatred and with love! It has been ages since you’ve loved As our blood still loves! You have forgotten that there is a love That can destroy and burn! We love all - the heat of cold numbers, The gift of divine visions, We understand all - sharp Gallic sense And gloomy Teutonic genius We remember all - the hell of Parisian streets, And Venetian chills, The distant aroma of lemon groves And the smoky towers of Cologne We love the flesh - its flavor and its color, And the stifling, mortal scent of flesh Is it our fault if your skeleton cracks In our heavy, tender paws? When pulling back on the reins Of playful, high-spirited horses, It is our custom to break their heavy backs And tame the stubborn slave girls Come to us! Leave the horrors of war, And come to our peaceful embrace! Before it’s too late - sheathe your old sword, Comrades! We shall be brothers! But if not - we have nothing to lose, And we are not above treachery! For ages and ages you will be cursed By your sickly, belated offspring! Throughout the woods and thickets In front of pretty Europe We will spread out! We’ll turn to you With our Asian muzzles. Come everyone, come to the Urals! We’re clearing a battlefield there Between steel machines breathing integrals And the wild Tatar Horde! But we are no longer your shield, Henceforth we’ll not do battle! As mortal battles rages we’ll watch With our narrow eyes! We will not lift a finger when the cruel Huns Rummage the pockets of corpses, Burn cities, drive cattle into churches, And roast the meat of our white brothers! Come to your senses for the last time, old world! Our barbaric lyre is calling you One final time, to a joyous brotherly feast To a brotherly feast of labor and of peace! january 30-th, 1918
Posted on: Tue, 02 Sep 2014 12:44:56 +0000
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