Poem to Refugees

     In these miniature Russian colonies
     Those who are hiding from lawlessness
     Their sinful bodies and souls,
     Interests are so pitiful
     Feelings vicious and hypocritical:
     They seek only food and warmth.

     They all eat - it is only appropriate,
     And the warmth in our time is important too,
     Nobody will argue with that.
     But apart from the warmth and the victuals
     There are needs mental and spiritual,
     Besides breakfast and wood and coat.

     There is theater, symphony and poems,
     There are paintings, and if in Estonia
     There is no such delight,
     My compatriots, Russian terribly,
     Its your fault that you see things narrowly,
     And you lose your hearing and sight.

     If youll find nothing like this within this land
     And this village except the wheat bread,
     Maybe at nights we will perform
     Shows of music and poems, and vocalists
     We will give majestic performances
     And perhaps we will dance until dawn.

     Maybe well declaim aloud Gogols thought
     (Fess up: you did not read a lot
     Of his work in your life, dear friends).
     Maybe take something from Nekrasov
     And to know travels of Hatteras, if
     Nietzsche, for one, the powers forbid.

     But what are such pursuits to you
     Calling nothing but curses out of you
     Better revelry, maps and food!
     Better gossip, intrigue and constant complaints
     That for long the army should have advanced
     For your sake to retake Petrograd.
 
 © Copyright Igor Severyanin