Rodina.

 The plane is still descending but I can already hear her whimpering.

It's dull and distant but outside of the illuminator the forests are crying out  for  liberty.

O Moscow! You and your grieved skies fill up with venomous haze from the old factories

Where children, mothers, veterans bent their crusted red books and shredded  their hearts.

 All for you, red capital! 

All for you

The metro trains  chase time and technology  to catch the West.

all for you

The red lipstick girls   wearing fox's fur  and  knee  high boots are  afraid of the dusk.

For you

Those books bleed Lenin, Kruschev and   prefabricated happiness.

Your toothless mouth can only whisper, Moscow.

Trying to scream out democracy, freedom , humanity

You whisper in my ear: evacuation.