Nikolay Tikhonov
Perekop

Diamond on diamond, it’s hailing stars,
The wind is still in the cypress trees,
A rifle, a knap-pack, a gas-mask, and
A pound of bread shared by three....

A delicate lace of palest blue
Has enveloped the vineyards — and
For four years now we’ve not slept o’nights,
And hunger has gnawed us, and fire, and smoke;
But the soldier obeys the command.

And trap after trap
For the red wolves was set,
The bayonet’s full-gorged, the butt has snapped,
The lasso whistles over our necks.

For the sea, for the hills, for the stars we fight.
Each tentative step has been bought with our bones.
The winged wolf-hounds have leapt from the heights,
The Sivash is paved with living stones.

But the dead, before they drop in their tracks
Advance by one more stride.
Nor bullet, nor hand-grenade have power
To turn the human tide.

There are children, blind and lame, in our rear,
Children of a long slaughter —
There are towns in our rear on shattered roads
Without bread, without hearth, without water.

And beyond the mountain is rest and joy,
A mirage? — it matters not.
With a sound like a storm goes up the cry
“We’ll win!” from a thousand throats.

When the moon rolled down behind the clouds
Like a silver fish’s eye,
Over us and our knotched, red bayonets
The sun climbed into the sky.

The dolphins were playing afar
And seagulls were rocking in space,
And the long grey ships were changing course
To head for the Bosphorus.

And we lay down under the trees,
Under the rocks, in the grass,
And waited—the first time in four long years —
For sleep to come at last.

We dreamt — if we lived for a hundred years,
We’d not see the like again.
No songs can be made up about it; no words
Are there to describe it all.

Translated by Avril Pyman