Навіщо. What For

To Tina Peresunko

The girl was collecting goose feathers for such a long time,

Pulling them out of the pillow, for sleep is impossible

When every instant right here, right in your yard

From near your house cannons are firing in volleys.

This is the sort of acoustics you have in the capital:

Explosions and shots are better heard from afar.

Long as an eagle’s, here’s a feather.

It seems there is silence? No, still blasts there are.

Then, when at last she had a whole pile of those feathers

She finished with making soft, white wings for herself;

And she went on a flight, you know, to escape waiting,

And she flew high above over the battle.

Those who saw her thought this was an angel from heaven:

Their white guardian during the darkest mess,

And they were victorious, just like this should have happened;

Alive, by the sunrise they did come out of hell.

And now the wings are so dirty, she’s crying, she’s bitter:

You won’t be able to wash out the burnt rubber of tyres…

…The white guardian angel is drying, spread on the heater;

The angel will take off again for a night flight.

10 February 2014