Revenge, my king, revenge set!
I’ll fall down to your feet:
Be just and punish murderer,
And let his execution say to offspring
A word about your righteous judgment
Let other villains see example in it.
The poet’s dead! – the slave of honor –
He fell under the lies of crowd,
With lead in heart and will to vengeance,
He bent his proud head last time!..
His soul did not bear the shame of
Pitiful offenses he get,
He has risen against society
Alone as always.. and he is dead!
He’s killed!.. There is no use in cryings,
Or shallow praises choir here
And also babbling of excuses.
The destiny has done its deed!
Weren’t you who chased with pure anger
His free and full of courage gift
And set the fire more and more just
To enjoy then how burns it?
Well have your fun – he didn’t endure
The weight of last torments he got:
He faded out like the torch here;
As well as celebration wreath.
His murderer acted with cold mind
He set the goal... there was no escape:
The empty heart beats still and steady.
The arm with gun did not shivered.
And what the wonder?.. From the far lands,
As well as many refugees
In searching for wealth and happiness
He has come – joke of destiny;
He despised with the cocky laughter
The foreign language and history;
He couldn’t spare our glory
He couldn’t understand that moment
On what he set his aiming arm!..
And he is killed – and taken by grave,
Like that singer unknown, but very nice yet,
The catch of that deaf jealousy.
He was sung by the poet with bright power,
And he was killed as him by ruthless hand.
What for from peaceful joys and friendship open hearted
He entered this world full of jealousy and stuffiness
For the free heart and flaming hot passions?
Why did he give the hand to the pathetic liars,
Why did he believe the words and caresses theirs?
He, who has understood the people while was child…
They’ve taken former wreath – that was then crown of thorns,
Wrapped by the laurels put on his forehead:
But secret needles were severe
To his glorious and straight head;
And his last moments were all poisoned
By cunning whispering of mocking ignorants
And he died with the useless thirst to avenge,
With the secret vexation of hopes dead
The sounds of nice songs are quiet
And they will never sound again
The home of singer is sad and narrow
And there’s a seal on lips he had.
And you, the arrogant descendants,
Known for the vileness of the famous fathers here,
Who trampled on the shards by slavery foot
And played with happiness of the offended families!
You, who is standing near throne in crowd
The torturers of Freedom, Genius and Glory you!
You hide under the law and you’re sure
That court and truth cannot be against you!
But there’s a heaven court, the followers of debauch!
There’s ruthless court, he waits;
And it cannot be bribed by nothing,
He knows and foresees all your deeds and thoughts.
There will be no use in the words of evil
They won’t be able to help you again
And you won’t make by all your black blood cleaner
The poet’s pure blood anyway!
26.10.17
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