Yes. Gardens already burn. From a court yard fire is visible And in a city which where explosions … are audible And tanks are mined! This night of mercy won't be … And mercy won't be. Refuge. A haven …
Not to think of arrows, Which on all hours inevitably come nearer to inevitable hour … By an o'clock of death … Here and a dawn. In the distance steps again were heard. Metal gnashes.
It is visible that feeling of the highest amnesty, Which erases wrinkles from a forehead crucified, Which gives children's innocent expression to persons of soldiers, That remained to hang on a barbed wire after fight, yet hasn't concerned me.
The body which is considered dead since that moment, As the death sentence is said, I feel all same young and live, Only hands have grown cold … The pause lasts unceasingly long. In corridors jailers impatiently shift from one foot to the other.