Infatuation
A robust voice on a gloomy October evening announced
your passion for freedom and humanity.
A rush of rhetoric swept away the university premises.
My dispassionate numbers drooled over your firebrand.
1% : 22%, 0.1% : 11% are men : wealth in America,
a curse of 21st century inequality.
The promise of America is between the sky and deep sea.
Love
I saw the dawn of proletariat; good morning my Nadezhda!
Let us wake up now as opportunity knocks at the gates.
Let us incite against $7.25 wage when billions are in profit.
Add your acerbity to the fuel that just ignited a fire.
Our voice got sharper at the altar of Government propaganda.
there, we burnt the brightest.
Your flame kept me warm all night long, thank you!
War
On second day of occupation, the cold wave of penury hit us.
At the street corner, we met with Jesus Christ, exhausted.
His crucified bloody body rebelled, still being kicked by greed.
He offered love to starving kids of main street.
And, I struggled against a few strong Men but could not save my love.
O Nadezhda, is this the end of us?
War is still on all the streets; how much love left in you, Jesus?
Death
The funeral is the end of your one life cycle but not your humanity.
Red and white flowers on your grave are our shared memories.
A bunch of tired but unyielding wills,
low sound of your flapping wings.
A march of our infatuation, love and war and your grande finale.
Goodbye my Nadezhda.
A robust voice on a gloomy October evening announced
your passion for freedom and humanity.
A rush of rhetoric swept away the university premises.
My dispassionate numbers drooled over your firebrand.
1% : 22%, 0.1% : 11% are men : wealth in America,
a curse of 21st century inequality.
The promise of America is between the sky and deep sea.
Love
I saw the dawn of proletariat; good morning my Nadezhda!
Let us wake up now as opportunity knocks at the gates.
Let us incite against $7.25 wage when billions are in profit.
Add your acerbity to the fuel that just ignited a fire.
Our voice got sharper at the altar of Government propaganda.
there, we burnt the brightest.
Your flame kept me warm all night long, thank you!
War
On second day of occupation, the cold wave of penury hit us.
At the street corner, we met with Jesus Christ, exhausted.
His crucified bloody body rebelled, still being kicked by greed.
He offered love to starving kids of main street.
And, I struggled against a few strong Men but could not save my love.
O Nadezhda, is this the end of us?
War is still on all the streets; how much love left in you, Jesus?
Death
The funeral is the end of your one life cycle but not your humanity.
Red and white flowers on your grave are our shared memories.
A bunch of tired but unyielding wills,
low sound of your flapping wings.
A march of our infatuation, love and war and your grande finale.
Goodbye my Nadezhda.
