2022-03-27 16:59:02
She was only 29 (at the moment of writing, the age of independence of Ukraine was 29 years old)
youthfulness with the taste of blood, poured into the shattered glass,
the portrait of our time, which doesn’t fit into any frame size,
tears mixed with the liquor on the cover of “humanism” –
that’s the furnishing of the twenty-second, soviet postmodernism.
our youthfulness fearlessly stands on three solid turtles,
and despite the cracks on the wheels, sometimes she is skateboarding.
she sweetly dreams in the evening; she suffers nastily in the morning.
she doesn’t believe that we are idiots and our minds are blowing.
youthfulness is woven from flax in cross-shaped patterns,
she suffocates herself with disgust along with kisses
of the wrong lips, the wrong people, and the wrong words.
even her soloviy-bird was killed with the gun in the wrong palms.
our youthfulness smells like chestnuts and shawarma on Kontraktova square.
you’ll recognize her look in the crowd because it’s so goddamn rare.
she sang elegies about glory and never-ending freedom,
youthfulness was just a child when she was given a weapon.
they taught youthfulness how to slap in order to defend herself.
how to survive on the last crumbs or carry a pepper spray,
don’t shout about "Friendship of Peoples", cause the losses are already too great.
should she stop defending herself? better teach them not to raid.
youthfulness smashed her knees and glass in the windows of courts,
her hands are covered in blood from the betrayal of other backstabbers.
she’s just gone for a smoke, she's not going to leave us.
youthfulness believed in God. she knew he would ask for forgiveness.
переклад @elzrn
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