In the bunker
drenched in the
war bells and phone calls
the university degree
and the rats
under the NATO light
seem wretched.

Smell of refugees
in the air space
or the scent of
Chechen tanks
hard to catch it.

Games of glory
and the songs of power
and nationalism
have been sung aloud
by the dead
hung in the snow
and UN morality.

Flags floating
in the mother’s cry
and held together
by the hands of blood
and the hatred of generations
about to descend from heavens.

Homo sapiens,
the pigs which evolved
into war machines
bombing each other’s humanity.

How can the heart
beat in a bunker?
Should I ask the
cockroach who’s ready
for the nukes?

Iron curtains
to hide
the shelling
and the nothingness
that remains.

—Long live the life.

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