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She flew white,
Strangely enough trusting in everything,
And we shouted as if that was our business:
"Witch, witch, witch..."
In a white starched uniform,
In shiny Italian sandals,
She smelled with a cotton wool
And with iodine a little.
Flying over the city at midnight,
She looked in windows, and it seemed
A light fills the room,
But she flew by, what a pity...
Spiritless spirituality,
Spiritual inspirituality,
How many got wounded
By journalists in this ball,
But, by me, what is without passion - Smells musty.
Sister, don't treat the rotten -
To the dead men - a mortuary and earth.
Sister, don't touch the extinguished,
You will soil with blackness yourself.
We, men and women,
We will stumble upon family
Until won't crack
it or we – one or the other.
She flew white,
Strangely enough trusting in everything,
And we shouted as if that was our business:
"Witch, witch, witch..."
Sister, here is someone waiting for an anesthesia,
On the lattice doors he cries.
Inject him a dose
Between the shoulder blades.
Do it for our homeland!
Having grinding our bones
The descendants will know -
That is a good glue.
My sister, do they lie at your place
For the sake of their children?
Here they lie: your son was killed,
And from the screen his father is saying:
"He is a hero internationalist".
My God, what does with people cosiness
And microphone's whistle.
Or perhaps he didn't lie, but was just cut out.
Fly by, sister, here is everything clear!..
She flew white,
Strangely enough
trusting in everything,
And we shouted as if that was our business:
"Witch, witch, witch..."
Mercy - what's that?
A lovely heart or alms from a heart?
But someone decided to warm up
Of a body, wrapped
In a stone sheet.
And he succeeded, even heats others
By an illicit of our passions.
Fly by, sister,
Here isn't valid
A purity of sheets.
She flew white,
Strangely enough trusting in everything,
And we shouted as if that was our business:
"Witch, witch, witch..."
Convincing themselves that they're right,
And all what flying is dirty,
My dear, don't take an offense,
We swallowed a poison,
Of one seminarist from Tifliss.
And we aimed our pipes at you,
And melted your bells,
And having caught sight of you,
Waited for something else.
Vladimir Oxikovsky
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