Devoted to that Russians who have forgotten their past and to all nations who are killing their future.

Dear Russians, hey and hoy! Life of yours is not a joy. You have suffered really hard, with dim eyes you see no start. Made you tired all this life, made lose powers in a strife.

Hard to live in stagnant country, who sees you as mere infantry. And ancestors – they have lived life of which you are deprived.

Many credits you have taken, thus appetites were awakened. Weight of wishes you knew not – in consumption now you rot.

Love for shopping you have found, lots of trading goes around. Pretty things you have to buy – there are many … my, oh my.

Mansions of yours are poor – with no treasure chests and goor. Only carpets hang on walls and TVs from endless malls.

You now work in office cell – hard to do so, I would tell! Numbers adding and subtraction is your way to satisfaction. Dragging water yokes is past – move from nature is “a must”.

And your salaries are small – in some cars you cannot roll. Walk on foot is not for you – that’s for poor, who are few, that’s a certain waste of time altogether with a rhyme.

Those rich soldiers of the past, who destroyed fascists, are dust – they deserved no “likes” from ones, who are “selfie’s” social-funs. Are there are no demands just to honor combatants who defended Russia’s past – all such memoirs are rust. Their lives had useless riches – flying arrows, castles sieges … their feats don’t bother you – those who bothered are few. 

Such a burden presses on, under it you whine and moan! Was your spirit changed by it, so you won’t be ever freed? As if soul has recoiled and to hear it you’ve foiled.

You are anxious now with sex as if it’s a first reflex. Count “partners” by the numbers, faithful ones now look like “dumbers”. “Adulteresses” are no good, who on penal servitude went with husbands in the past – they were happy, and as thus no fidelity they bear, even though they had no fear.

Oh, how hard it’s for you to go on, if you don’t have a precious iPhone! On your work you keep building careers, and if work isn’t “cool” – you shed tears. No more time for your children you keep – your careers are whispering “R.I.P”. And your families live all alone as if friendship has truly begone.

And you keep run in circles all time – and consider that this path is fine. Only quicker you all try to run, and willpower has almost begone. And ancestors have not built careers, they had no such ridiculous fears, only powerful nation they made – their feats, trust me, never will fade. They prepared a ladder for you – but those ones who will climb it are few.

It’s so hard to be Russians by now – it’s a burden that life does bestow, one that narrow your shoulders and way as if clue for a life goes astray. And no longer eyes shining with joy as if you are no more than toy, and no longer soul’s singing is heard as if throat was all broken apart, and some people are crying with tears, and some going abroad for careers. And ancestors were all carefree – throwing lives they were willingly, see? It’s for God and their families gave – and no longer they suffer in graves.

Burden crushed you and tortured much! How to dump it, so hated, or patch? How to beat this thrice-cursed great beast and to start with a fresh, clear list? Strain your minds and try thinking a bit – why your dreams are still lying at feet? Are your values now twisted and broken, have your soul still not have awoken? How you truly imagine your life that is kind and a meaningful strife? If you hear spiritual accord – you will once fly again as bird.