My general

My general:
Your boots with metal rowels are lit with flickering flames.
You cannot behold me for I am timid behind the drapes.
I'm being silent, but singing your prideful victorious chant,
While you are sitting and dining, oblivious to my stunt.

You had plotted a plot in the treacherous shade,
Stepped out to the arsenal, while the hind-heads got shaved.
Thus this is an prove of mutual greeds,
Squeamish antipathy of sharpened eye-lids.
Off on the wrong foot you entered the rows,
And now they are all your rivals and foes.
Just pull off the trigger's head
And make all of them dead..."

Your epaulets with stars are reflecting the dawning nightfall.
The squadrons are fearlessly hitting the field with their staggering stroll.
I'm silent, but whispering: mutiny! I'm faintly commanding: set forth!
And you are leading to sacrifice, numb to the rattling earth. 
And dreaming of merciless battles, the blades are boiling from blood.
By the tip of the finger in frictional lines is looping your militant squad.
And the enemies howl... In hysterics escaping the sizzling streets
Are the philosophers of esoterics and affluent public in flits.


"You had plotted a plot in the acquisitive shade,
Stepped on the plaza as your hind-head got shaved,
Thus this is a proof of mutual treacherous blames,
The dolorous paragraph formed from the paper-made planes.
Off on the wrong foot you entered the rows,
The place where had fallen your rivals and foes.
Just pull off the trigger's head
And show to them all you are dead..."


14.11.2013 (self-translated from Russian)