Grand Finale? Poem by Vladimir Zakharov

Flames hailing down from melting sky,
Consuming lands and seas below.
Not being quick enough to die
Means pulling out the shortest straw.

For now the grand finale roars,
And to its syncopated beats
The mankind, horrified, beholds
The dawn of the Apocalypse.

Forgo your everyday affairs:
When tissues of the world are riven
And death crawls in your footsteps, there's
No melody, just primal rhythm.

But even when the sky is torn
The firmament is never black;
New generations will be born -
No memories of what they lack.

And through the ever-dying mud
Once will come out new sprouts of green;
Then Man, forsaken by the god,
Will find his godless ecumene
With his own deity within.

(Dolgoprudny,09/27/2014)