Vital Ryzhkou (Віталь Рыжкоў)

General, I fold. Our maps are crap.
                               J. Brodsky

two violinists
run
from the ruined Philharmonic
in a quiet "we wil be"
 through the battlefield

finally one of them falls,
wounded
while the second one turns back
and shoulders the first
to pull

the first endures pain for long
and suddenly starts to yell:

symon,
come on,
what the hell?

symon,
your sweetheart was cheating on you with me,
and now
she is back to you to betray you
again:
do you still think you’re a real man?

cause the man in you turned into vapor, gone
with the wind, with the rain
after all, you hold your bow wrong,
you carry me in a wrong way

you and me could be anyone, we could be not
the musicians at all, but the empire started
this damned blitz-krieg; we don’t take part in this art,
and the coalition doesn’t care how I hurt

the commander has no ear for music, so
as a conductor he’s useless, he’ll never hear the war
look we’re stuck, symon, i can’t stand it any more

so, for the sake of our sons leave me here, symon,
we’d better get out of this mess one by one
you're a weakling, symon, so you should go alone
yeah, embrace your son and tell him he’s my son

you’re a mama’s boy,
symon! -
he heard as he ran on