Where are you now, tortures of my nation?
Where is your grandeur, where is your power?
Your black malevolence will not fall
Onto bright stars and quiet waters.
The nation grows, and proliferates, and acts
Without your whips and swords.
Its cruel and tender soul grows ancient
And young beneath the sun of eternity.
My nation is! My nation always will be!
No one will efface my nation!
All the werewolves and intruders will disapper,
Along with the hordes of conqueror-vagabonds!
You, bastards of the rabid torturers,
Don’t forget, you monsters, anywhere:
My nation is! Kozak blood is pulsing
And humming in its oxen veins!
December 24, 1962