Calluses

We ask the poets not to forget about the war, Hire, don’t talk about killed soldiers, Take note, don’t mention their names... If the war becomes one with the sacrificial rights, They start talking about her using my numbers: Three thousand killed and nine thousand alive... If war can be driven from us, For her, one can imagine a new euphemism: 200th vantage, demarcation line, ATO zone... In order for the soldiers to come up with their own positive words - So that death does not recognize their true names I missed them in my notebook. Therefore, peaceful residents are afraid to talk about death, So that she didn’t smell it and didn’t come to her house, Let her not come and take away their children. And the TV presenters will continue to grin until the spectators, See them as saints and talk about copper pandas, It’s good to talk about anything, but not about the war... Step by step to come in the face of bad news, Click - and ask for a prisoner at the head. The one that protects the brain from overheating. Suspicion rings before grief and before war So, like a leg ringing until a new rise, I want to rub my kidneys to the point of calluses. The fathers are calling you right away, getting ready for the nobles. Then the politicians sing, committing to a new life. The only thing that remains is death in the dirty cardboard clogs. Those who trade in death are rarely on the front line, They understand that war is an unreliable business partner, Therefore, send couriers who suffer from the greatest calluses...