Among the shaded trees at Peremohy Avenue,
Pushkin stretches out his gaze and hand
to the Ukrainian people, his words of freedom clear
for everyone,
Hatred of spray-painted graffiti on his sculpture
by the vandals does not bother him,
The great poet rises above the hordes in Kiev,
The word “Demolish” by Ukrainian authorities
does not wound him,
His words are immortal and their rhetoric is nothing
but dust along the streets and gutters of Kiev,
The bronze statue of the poet is like his crafted
poem of the Bronze Horseman,
Alive and enduring.
As the Russian poet wrote in Ode to Freedom---
“Let me Sing to the world of Liberty
And shame the scum that sit on thrones”,
Pushkin is a soldier of all cultures in their greatness,
The tyrants of Kiev fear him during their flagrant war
across the mud and fields of Ukraine.
It is May and the war goes on,
Life and courage echo in the Russian poet’s words,
Amid the air-raid sirens blaring in Kiev.
