I dreamed of General Skobelev
Having just been put into prison.
I dreamed that heТd talked to the water
And its answer to him had arisen.
The trees attentively listened to them,
In a circle of emptiness lost.
Just a shadow from the circle could be seen,
And inside it the shape of a cross.
It all took place on an island of women,
Flowers sprouting out of the ground.
On all sides of them stretched a white-water sea
On the surface ice formed all around.
A circle of women surrounded him,
Slender they were just like birch.
Above their branches the moon was rising.
Beneath their feet the grave-silent earth.
The General glanced all around
And said "stop your laughter and glee.
Get a hold of some string and some soap
And we'll make some dresses for thee.
A little birch bark will be our hat,
And a thousand grass blades our shoes.
Then we'll heave into the pit
And find out the right thing to do".
Nobody uttered even a word,
The conclusions were clearly so true.
In the distance stood a circle of those
Who had honestly chosen their view.
Their faces were pock-marked
>From the knowledge they die what hey must.
Their fingers danced on the trigger,
And their souls were as vacant as dust.
Some druid who was just passing by
Remarked "we're among friends it would seem.
The way of the Lord isn't written in the cards
The cards don't play a swat team.
You can trust society,
You can believe fate slated your role.
But if you really want to find out the law,
You will find it inside your own soul".
The convoy uneasily began to move,
The new arrival not yet seen.
The General continued fixing his boots,
His face wrinkling at every scream.
He said "in times like ours, there's no place
For unscientific love".
His arms were up to the elbow in berries,
Or perhaps elbow deep in blood.
Somebody nearby was swatting at flies,
And caught him with a spoon.
Those gathered there scattered,
And assembled at the respectable coffin.
The priest read him his funeral rites,
The Judge pronounced his sentence with grief.
A chairman stood to the right of the grave
To the left was waiting a thief.
This event was recorded in all of the annals,
But no detail can be found on the shelves.
Those who wrote recalled the social aspect,
Or more often only talked of themselves.
The trees continued to listen to them,
The mosquitos attending the wake.
The women wait to carry on the discussion,
And I just long to awake.
