On the independence of Ukraine – Joseph Brodsky

Dear Karl XII, battle near Poltava,
thank God, lost. As the burry said,
"Time will show Kuzkin's mother", ruin,
bones of posthumous joy with a taste of Ukraine.
That is not green-quit, isotope spent,-
yellow-blue soaring over Konotop,
tailored from canvas, know, stocked by Canada.
Without a cross, but khokhols don't need.
Гой ты, towel, ruble, seeds in full zhmen!
Not us, kacapam, accuse them of treason.
Themselves under the images of seventy years in Ryazan
with flooded eyes lived, as in Tarzan.
Let's tell them, the ringing mother pauses hesitantly:
tablecloth for you, Ukrainians, and a towel road!
Step away from us in the county, without speaking - in uniform,
at a three letter address, for all four
parties. Now let the Hans in the hut
with lyakhami put you on four bones, pagans.
How to climb into a loop - so together, choosing the way more often,
and gnawing borscht chicken alone is sweeter.
Forgive, Ukrainians, lived together - that's enough!
Spit, whether, in Dnipro, can, he will roll back,
disdainfully proud of us, how fast, chock-full
leather corners and age-old resentment.
Do not mention disaster. Your bread, sky,
us, choke on cake and colob, no need.
There's nothing to spoil the blood, tear clothes on the chest.
Ended, know, love, if it was in between.
That poking around in vain in torn roots with a verb?
The earth gave birth to you, priming, black soil with podzol.
Fully download the rights, sew us one, other.
This land does not give you, watermelon, rest.
Oh yes Levada-steppe, the king, from the beginning, boiled dough!
Больше, поди, lost - more people, than money.
We'll make it through somehow. And as for a tear from an eye -
there is no decree on her, wait until another time.
With God, eagles, казаки, hetmans, vertukhai!
Only when it comes to you to die, bugai,
will you wheeze, scratching the edge of the mattress,
lines from Alexander, and not the lie of Taras.

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