To Relatives Poem by Anthony Davydov

No, i'm not yours! For me your aims are foreign.
For me is strange your uninspired shout.
But in the croud, in the circle solemn,
I'd go to your chalice, no doubt.

When you are element, you're ruinous rough storm
I'm your voice, I'm tipsy with your deeds.
I urge to shatter centenarian custom,
To create waste for future coming seeds.

When you are ruthless, when you are like doom,
I'm your trumpeter, your standard-bearer's in me.
I urge to storm, to fight without gloom
To Holy Land, to our liberty!

But there, when you shout me 'No more! '
But there where you choir song of win,
For sake of novel will, I find novel war!
In break I'll be with you! Won't - in regime!