Wind

The final fight… the final words' last paragraph. I wanted more, but the alarm is screaming. It wasn't me who set it. And a mattress made of earth Is now my bed, and flashes are my lamplight. Why am I here? So those back there can live! Such is my lot, the creed I chose myself. It's no longer scary… and from cheeks to lips, Through the ravines of my face and the bushes of my beard, A stream of prayer: "God, give us victory…" Not over the enemy — over people's stupidity, That makes the fingers squeeze. War stretched our bodies like cloth upon a hoop And stitches them by calculation from ideas that contradict. Alas, we're not long for this world. One foot already lodgers of the sky. Lads who chose, out of a thousand roads, To carry only death. Drifters among dead souls. Mum. Don't cry. I have no reason to come home. My shelter's here now, under the blazing sun. Plant some lilac under the little kitchen window And talk in the quiet, as if you're talking to me. And I'll send a wave through the branches in reply. The day will come, mum, I'll become a wild wind. And carry your sorrow off beyond the farthest lands… When they come with an envelope — open the door bravely, And believe nothing else but these lines. Forgive me, mum, it's time for me to leave my bed… Throwing off the greatcoat like a blanket — straight into hell, Before, still half-asleep, the force of fear grows firm. To meet the horror head-on, which is like a mate: First a brawl, and only after — a mate you like. And now he soared for the first time over a rustling cedar… Now he's unchained… and merged with the wild wind.