Words and Verse

Chechnya



“Roses, roses, wither brown
Bow your weary petals down.”`

                              Little girls sing and play in
                    The sunlight of southern Russia's summer...
          Dancing an airy Krakovyak, swaying
                    Laughing.

                    Smiling,
          As their head-coverings glow in the parching sun,
           speckled red with roses,
          Parents watch, with vodka to douse noon.
          Their young voices mingle in the verse of a tune...

Лишь розы увядают                    As soon as roses wither
Амврозией дыша                    Their breath ambrosia yields
В Элизий улетает                    Their airy souls fly thither
Их легкая душа                    To the Elysian fields

They sing,
They dance, feet mimicking
The swift wind of the swaying wood
As though the blades of grass
Were trees. They cannot
          Hear the footsteps pass
                                        In the wood.
                                                  He approaches wearing a heavy
                                                  Tumbled, dun-gray vest through the wood.-
                                                            Sweating as he watches, listening
                                                                      In the wood

                    Roses, little roses, come
                    Fly to your Elysium.


                                                  He grins up, bearing what teeth he has left
                                                  In his mouth like fangs in his head,
                                                  Reaching into his vest, he slithers,
                                                  A snake out through the wood.

Like twining heathers,
          They join hands in a circle,
          Around the eldest in the ring
          Flinging roses to clapping parents
                    As they sing their song:

                    И там, где волны сонны                    There, where the waters vagrant
                    Забвение несут,                              Oblivion bear in dreams,
                    Их тени, благовонны,                    Their shadows honey-fragrent
                    Над Летою цветут.                    Bloom over Lethe's streams.

                                                  He runs to them and flings
                                                                      off the overcoat,                                                                                                                        Clutching his vest
                              Parents gasp swaying a moment numb
                                        As the last refrain of the children sings,
                                                  He approaches them.

“Roses, wither. Roses bloom
After death in nethergloom.
Roses, roses, wither brown,
Bow--          
Their voices, sink and drown,
                                                   shipwrecked in the flood of his as
                                                            He cries “For Chechnya!”
                                                                      And pulls something from his vest...


The next day gleaming blades of glass,
And burnt and charred head-coverings
Rose-speckled, fire-shredded, and cold in the grass,
Strewn round as though writhing in rings
          And a little scorched finger, pointed accusingly at the sky,
          And an old overcoat by the wood's edge,
                    Ruffling, rolling and rumpling
                    Like a black flag in the in the gusts a-grumbling

                                                  All told the tale


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Chechnya

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