Old nags. Elegy

Old Lyadi come to us,
Burning on the eternal ride:
Kabbalist impudence in the gaze,
Feminist insolence (everywhere).
The rest of the decrepit Lyadi -
Like Sting and Rokers Byorka, -
Ask Pussey to forgive God for the sake
And they are called to Paris and New York.

How many of you, old scrape!
And where did the young agility come from?
They attacked Russia from behind
And teach to live in unbridled!
You will not understand, the old scald,
How Russian truth is simple,
As a lot of spirituality in de Sad
And as faith is pure without Christ.

How much can you, dull Lyadi,
It’s complacurating to let the bubbles
Repeat: “Do not kill, do not steal
And do not create an idol ”?!
We repeat, overseas shove, -
You did not know Russia at all.
Our faith is not in a notebook,
A bottomless abyss and horror.
Are you pale, old Lyadi?
Such a turn is scary of you?
After all, the Mariana cavity herself -
Not deeper than Russian swamps.

How you got, old Lyadi, -
You, Europe, and you, Pindos!
Dry, smooth aunts and uncles,
Our faith is understood:
We are languishing in the enemy siege,
We almost have nothing to eat,
We are not touched by old Lyadi -
Conscience, mercy, hope and honor!
Turn around, go sutulo
Nedimoskov to nourish his
For your old culture is
Also, in essence, the old lady.
We don't dance to your music,
Our "Fe" to your flabby breasts,
Your mercy is salivae to the fallen -
Also, in essence, mercy to Lyadam.

So go, old Lyadi,
Forget about us forever
And leave Russia in decay:
This is our best environment.
Let her, hiding in an ambush,
Bite to the smallest parts
Young, elastic Lyadi
From spiritual and secular authorities.

Dmitry Bykov

Source: Echo of Moscow