I mourn the non-existing country I was born in
Though ‘t was a phantom of Empire I belong to
The alien land where I reside at dawning
Of the millennium is wrongful.
This can’t be Russia. It’s some aggregation
Of perverts, thieves, whores and con men in power
Sitting on branches of the wizened tree on ration
Of the dead souls that emerged last hour.
They are insatiable, their name is Legion
They are the law and profit’s their religion.
They buy and sell and cheat -
That’s their only treat.
This can’t last long,
Or am I wrong?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.