Is the earth, as they say, burnt and dried? Will a seed, as they say, never sprout? Has the earth, as they say, really died? No! It’s taken a lengthy time-out! Mother Earth will forever give birth, Its maternity isn’t a fiction! Don’t believe that they burnt down the earth, No! It’s blackened from grief and affliction. Trenches, running like scars back and forth... Bleeding guts black shell-craters expose... They are open nerves of the earth, Which unearthly unhappiness knows. It will stand wars and grief - any thing! It’s not crippled, though booted and looted... Don’t believe that the earth doesn’t sing, That it’s quieted down, diluted! No, it’s singing as loud as it can From a trench, from a wound, from a hole! Since the earth is the soul of Man, Boots cannot trample down the soul!    
© George Tokarev. Translation, 2003
Edited by Robert Titterton