Аисты [Aisty] [English translation]

Skies today are all clear, stunning,

But the armor is here, rattling.

All across our vast land: humming,

And the trees are so sad, sapping.

Rising up like a cross is black smoke,

Not a rooftop will host nesting storks.

Amber ears of wheat grow eagerly,

“All in vain,” comes a thought, bitterly.

What's that amber ahead, shimmering?

There's a fire in the field, flickering.

All were scattered away. Torment!

No more songbirds remain: Corvids!

And the trees are in dust, brightened.

Every songster is hushed, silent.

Not for us love was made, isn’t it?

Hatred is of a main interest.

Rising up like a cross is black smoke,

Not a rooftop will host nesting storks.

Forest rustles with its canopy,

Land and water are in agony.

But it's not without a miracle.

Forest’s sounds are pre-war typical.

From their woes all went off easterly,

There are no storks remain, no passerines.

Now the air contains sounds different;

Rattles, clangs go in rounds, bickering.

Comes the clatter of hooves quivering

Someone’s screams sound aloof, whispering.

From their woes all went off easterly,

There are no storks remain, no passerines.