Get up, my country, feel your strengh,
enjoy your freedom whole,
be & remain yourself at length
in gaiety & dole.
We suffer from our own old sins -
from a small Russian plague.
I'll tell you what it strictly means,
It not at all is vague!
That illness catches you in sun,
as well as in moonlight,
it gets your daughter & your son -
though functions out of sight.
When you don't use your native tongue,
when you forgot your kin,
when you believe a Moscow monk
to absolve each your sin.
When you don't know exactly who
fought for your country free,
at least search Google or Yahoo
your conscience to agree
with the essential facts & trends,
& to think over again -
for what a Nationalist stands
& why he is a Man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem