From the dress-rehearsal at the Red-Grave
I know that eleven thousand troops are taking part
in a victory parade with patriotism at heart,
where the military is shown as strong and brave,
where in reality they do innocent strafe,
with bombardments takes humans apart,
where their military structure do not seem smart
and with war-crimes they do misbehave.
Seventy seven aircraft will give a show,
one hundred and thirty weapons will roar past
and Putin will probably on reservists call,
mobilize all Russia; of war let them know,
thinking he will build a Russia that will last
while he is a menace to one and all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem