Evgeny Vinokurov

Goths were baptized… With a morose air, 
Up to their necks, they entered waters, freezing, 
But over them, held their sword in the air,
To let their fist forever be a heathen.

Meekness must have its limit too, at least,
Whatever says the commandment of humbleness…
And I would like to save my own fist. 
I will be kind. But let it have its sturdiness. 


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, May, 2001