Panmongolism! Although the name of the wild,
But we mellifluous it…
A million - you. Us - darkness, and darkness, and darkness.
Try, take us!
Yes, Scythians - we! Yes, Asians - we, –
With slanted and greedy eyes!
For you - the century, for us - a single hour.
we, like obedient slaves,
Holding a shield between two hostile races -
Mongols and Europe!
century, century your old forge forged
And drowned gromá avalanche,
And wild tale was a failure for you
And Lisbon and Messina!
You are looking for hundreds of years in the East,
Storing up and melting our Pearls,
And you, mocking, We counted the days,
When instruct vents guns!
Here - the term has come. Trouble beats its wings,
And every day our grudges grow,
And the day will come - there will be no trace
From your Paestums, may be!
ABOUT, old world! Until you perish,
While suffer your sweet torture,
Остановись, wise, Oedipus,
Sphinx before the ancient riddle!..
Russia - Sphinx. Jubilant and starches,
And drenched in black blood,
she looks, looks, looking at you,
And hatred, and with love!..
Yes, loves, he loves our blood,
None of you have not loved!
have you forgotten, there is love in the world,
And which burns, and destroys!
We love everything - the heat of cold numbers,
The gift of divine visions,
We all clearly - sharp Gallic sense,
And the gloomy German genius…
We all remember - the hell of Parisian streets,
And Venetian chills,
Lemon groves distant aroma,
And smoky towers of Cologne…
We love the flesh - and taste it, and color,
And stuffy, mortal flesh smell…
Is it our fault, if your skeleton cracks
In severe, delicate our paws?
we are accustomed to, grabbing the reins
Playing spirited horses,
Breaking their heavy backs,
And usmiryaty rabыny stroptivыh…
Come to us! From the horrors of war
Come in peace embrace!
It is too late - the old sword,
comrades! We will - the brothers!
And if not, - We have nothing to lose,
And we are not above treachery!
century, century - you will be cursed
sore, later offspring!
We widely in woods and thickets
Before Europe comely
will spread out! We turn to you
His Asian erysipelas!
go all, Go to the Urals!
We clean the place battle
steel machines, where the integral is breathing,
The wild Tatar Horde!
But we ourselves are - now - you - do not shield,
From now on, do battle!!
we'll see, as the mortal combat boils,
His narrow eyes!
will not move, when a fierce Hun
In the pockets of corpses will fumble,
burn the city, and drive cattle into churches,
And the meat of white brothers fry!..
The last time - come to your senses, old world!
On the brotherly feast of labor and peace,
The last time - at the bright fraternal feast
Barbaric lyre is calling!
30 January 1918