“Why do you sprint through the finest print,
signing so much and so much.
Why do you bow to the burning Bush
When Eltsin sins, awaits a putsch
with a hearty mush and a heavy push,
surface smile while his heart is flint.
Why do you sprint through the finest print,
casting around for a crutch? ”
“Why do I sprint through the finest print,
signing so much and so much?
Time’s running out and I’ve done my stint,
the rouble to rubble falls just like forint,
inflationary spiral is costing a mint,
disunion threatens and Red faces blush.
That’s why I’m casting around for a splint,
signing so much and so much! ”
1 August 1991
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem