Dmitry Kolomensky
This is Vera Petrovna – she is a cannibal
Meet: this is Vera Petrovna – she is a cannibal.
And it's not that Vera Petrovna cooked people for dinner – no!
And it's not that Vera Petrovna sneaked into the night secretly,
Playing with a blade, poking with a stick, poking with a fang –
Again, no! Vera Petrovna grows like a flower:
If the west wind blows, it bends to the east,
If the wind is from the east, it is to the west. And, most importantly,
At these moments, Vera Petrovna does not eat anyone.
But when the boss – no matter how big or small –
Speaking publicly about peace and happiness, gives a special signal,
A certain sign – then Vera Petrovna reads it at a time.
And then her shoulders straighten, her eye lights up red,
Religious feeling grows, class hatred, girlish honor –
And she starts looking for someone to eat.
Finding a hostile look, a poisonous tongue, a nasty nose,
Innocent Vera Petrovna writes a denunciation,
Sophisticated Vera Petrovna writes a manual or an article
Titled "The Most Complete List of Recommendations
………………………… to identify and stop the activities
…………………………. politically harmful elements,
……………………….. preventing Russia from getting up from its knees and living in paradise.”
And the very, very Vera Petrovna knows that people won’t be brought up like that,
And he gets a job in the police, the prosecutor's office, the court –
There, the meat is fresh, and the supplies are uninterrupted, and everything is arranged according to the mind;
And in general, eating in a team is more beneficial than eating alone, which
There are many examples – in any country and in all ages.
And the sauce under which the little man is the sweetest,
Selected according to the epoch when the
Norms and parameters of blanks of human meat.
But then times change, the authorities signal the end.
Immediately, Vera Petrovna droops her shoulders, her red eye changes to blue
Or brown; feelings, hatred, honor temper the ardor –
The person becomes the same as he was.
And we are going with Vera Petrovna in the bus, discussing business –
That the radish did not go this year, but the potatoes did,
That December is promised snowless. And then I see that
She looks strangely, as if trying through her coat
To see which part of me – on the roast, which – in the cabbage soup …
– Yes, and with meat now it’s not easy, – he says, – look for fistulas –
By day with fire you will not find a decent one.
…………………………………………. ……….
I open my mouth.
What to say – I don’t know where to run – I don’t know.
And the engine rumbles, the heart beats, the bus crawls forward
And in Vera Petrovna's eye a bloody light burns.
Maria Remizova
The house that Jack destroyed
Here is the house
that Jack destroyed.
And these are those of the tenants who remained,
Who escaped in the dark basement
In the house,
that Jack destroyed.
And this is a cheerful tit bird,
Who doesn't have fun anymore.
In the house,
that Jack destroyed.
Here is the cat
Who is afraid of explosions and cries,
And he doesn't understand what it all means
In the house,
that Jack destroyed.
Here is a dog without a tail
Without eyes, head, belly and spine.
Perhaps in heaven he will see Christ
In the house,
that Jack destroyed.
And this is a hornless cow,
Mooing and mooing, miserable miserable.
And drops of blood with milk on the road
To home,
that Jack destroyed.
And this is an old woman, gray-haired and strict,
The old woman does not see a hornless cow,
He does not see a dead dog without a tail,
He does not see a wild cat screaming,
He does not see the silenced tit bird,
Can't see what's going on in the basement
In the house,
that Jack destroyed.
She somehow crouched crookedly to the porch.
And a fly crawls over her face.
Igor Irteniev
Russia is my homeland
Russia is my homeland
Even though I'm a Jew
There are various fucking rivers in it,
Forests, fields, seas,
Cows, geese and swans
countless herds,
But most of the people in it
And that's the trouble.
Yulia Pikalova
Don't kill
Don't kill
– They haven't been killed yet.
Don't kill
– But now we are quits
Don't kill
– Let them sit in the basement
Don't kill
But before they killed
Don't kill
– They are themselves
And whine under the rubble, they call the west in quiet voices
Don't kill
We are one people, they got out of hand
We do what a friend does
Our step is firm
They will say yes
Salvation from the rotten west
Don't kill
“Then they would have killed us.”
Glory special operation
Hail special forces
Glory to the Russian troops
For the fact that the planet is still alive
Hail Putin the messiah
Glory to Russia
Don't kill
– The world around is mired in lies
Tie him a white bandage
Then don't take aim
Will be intact
Don't kill
– It's a fight for peace
Don't kill
– Pointwise the Nazis are not mistaken commander
Don't kill
– You know, it's not that simple.
Don't kill
– I send a carpet and a suit according to my height
I'll find it for growth later
In hell
Don't kill
– And the fifth column with eyes full of moisture
We will remind how their grandfathers were corrected in the gulag
Don't kill
– The world just did not understand how lucky he was
We are absolute pure unalloyed
Tatiana Voltskaya
There will be no coffins
There will be no coffins. Our children will be burned
In a camping stove, and the smoke will be dispelled
Above the Ukrainian field, and a black tourniquet
It will merge with the smoke of the fire – over there, to the left.
Instead of a body, a polite captain,
Calling the apartment, deliver the ashes
In a neat package and silently put there,
Under the photo, where the dashing demobilization
Turned into a contract. Opening the briefcase
He takes out the paper and, jerking his neck,
As if something is in the way, it will sit down, as if stranded,
On a stool: sign a non-disclosure agreement.
She will sign. And he hurries back
Past the TV set with the Basque unfinished
And a bunk bed, where is the younger brother,
Ninth grader, does not take his eyes off him,
Hanging down – as if waiting for his package.
Olya Skorlupkina
And how they took Love and dragged it to the square
And how they took Love and dragged it to the square
Whether to hang, or pour metal into her throat
Molten so that there is no more
To not be merciful, freak
Rubbish, traitor, proshmandovka, bitch, how long –
All in traps of question marks and exclamations
Prayed for peace – prepare for hostility and pain
Because they lie and there is no Father for them
There are postcards for the holidays with faces with comic sans
And Easter colors with rhinestones and mother of pearl
They color eggs, they fix backpacks
And pigtails to your daughters, and the next morning
The same fingers type: "Break this creature
Crooked skinny legs"
(For words of hope for the world) and Love laughs
Dragging, sausage, shaking, dancing on the road
She endures everything, what else remains for her
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Alya Khaitlina (Kudryasheva)
Fourth day
The man inside me is twenty-five weeks old
For twenty-five weeks I have given him bread and bed.
And when I now weep or scream,
What am I teaching him?
A man inside the subway for three days now
He does not know the light, but he knows the smell of fire.
He lies on the floor, on a blanket, and around
So many eyes and hands.
The man in the shelter just turned five
He has already learned to be silent at the right time.
And don't whine "mom, cartoon" and "this is not the right food"
Kids learn fast, yes.
I don't care how old the man inside the Kremlin is
But immediately the earth should part under him,
And in the place where it hopefully happens
Not a single sprout will come up.
Let his saliva become soap, and blood shit,
On his tombstone they will write “and rightly so”,
Well, and the children – let the children be able to whine again,
This will be the end of the war.
Boris Khersonsky
How many of us, uninvited! Don't feed the mob
How many of us, uninvited! Don't feed the mob
fugitives or refugees – call us whatever you want.
The enemy is cunning and cunning. You won't have control over it.
It happens that the place is empty, but not free.
The man is looking for the best place. Dressing fashionably
but you can't put beach pebbles in a gold frame.
Pilate condemns Christ, releasing Barabbas.
The ship of justice does not turn off course
condemnation of truth and justification of malice.
In the country of freaks, they do not look for the truth, resources are important.
You will not bind her with law, you will not satisfy her womb.
The land is plowed up – but the grain growers are expelled.
Learn other people's dialects. speak sloppy, with an accent.
Forget words. a penny is confused with a euro cent.
We are spread out, we are scattered across the cities of Europe.
Cities are beautiful, but our ancestors didn't build them.
Where we are not, shells fly, young men dig trenches,
gentle maidens weave camouflage nets,
in the cellars, crouching, sit my same-year-olds.
The wind of war tears people off like autumn leaves from a branch.
here, at the stations and stations awaiting dispatch,
shudder when they hear their native speech from a neighboring shop.
Where we are not, there are old photo albums,
repositories of faded forgotten and unforgettable faces.
The railway stations are still intact, but the airfields have been destroyed.
Bending down, you no longer see how many bent ones are around.
Gravediggers do not have time to bury the dead.
The howl of a siren brings out of a state of slumber.
Flight is a disease – its symptoms are known.
There is no refugee without nostalgia. there is no wanderer without a break.
Do not have shadow ghosts. Our shadows are at home.
Ksenia Buksha
Are you from Russia? – Unfortunately yes
are you from russia? – Unfortunately yes
why, unfortunately, we all love Russia here
we had a war and russia protected us
from enemies, yes, you just don’t know what war is
this is terrible war is worse than drought
and you say unfortunately yes how can you
so to speak you just don't know how terrible it is
years ago I fled here from the war, you know
and you say unfortunately Russia, well, how is it
as soon as they were all killed, so I would
she strangled them all with her own hands
damned killers: they must be killed: because
killing is bad: it is necessary to kill such people who kills
her speech speeds up like a rewind
wraps around a ball image twitches
facial cracks turn into flat ripples
rumbles in the ears like a surf howls in the distant cliffs: she
shakes his head like crazy
kill kill kill
Vadim Zhuk
You who live in a high tower
You who live in a high tower
Made from the tusks of a white elephant
Not distinguishing between today and yesterday,
Know that you are a belligerent.
You, buying cans and cereals,
So that tomorrow the family is not hungry.
The eyeless corpses are looking at you.
You are the belligerent.
You are silent, you are silent
You whispering "It's not my fault"
And you will find wolves in the thicket,
Because you are a belligerent.
You with your insatiable glass
All sending on and on.
Your cockroaches will wake you up:
You are also a belligerent.
You – with your hot lines,
Your chest and back are open.
You are from here. Not outside and not above. And that means
You are the belligerent.
