Did you know that Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Viktorovich Lavrov, who celebrated his 75th birthday on March 21, 2025, was a poet, too?

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"One for the Road"
by Sergey Lavrov, March 1989
Translated by Putinger's Cat

Well, here it is – a horse-drawn carriage,
Drivers’ hangover’s gone away,
And, in the dawn’s haze, one can manage
To see the fires of yesterday.
Black trusty horses have been harnessed,
The roadway’s clear of any block,
And, scabbard-free, the sword is out,
As if there is no turning back.

New shoulder boards replaced the old ones,
Balm for the soul poured on, with purpose,
And holy bows have all been done
Before the native graves and crosses.
Black horses stab the ground with hooves,
Old monograms are cleared of dust,
Old debts have all been paid in full
With brand new promissory notes.

The carriage starts moving, with rattling,
While it, quite low, on axels sags,
The driver’s steering for Manhattan,
His whip raised high above black backs.
And, now, rolling on, still faster,
The wheels are tracking through the mud,
Yet, it’s as if somebody’s grabbing
And holding tightly, from behind.

Each step, through clay, growing more heavy,
Black horses’ve slowed down to a walk.
It is not possible to break it -
A navel chord straight from the еarth.
And, just like that, one can’t break oneself,
Much as it’d seem one almost did it.
Here’s to our weakness. To our Russia.
To our fate and to our limit.

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Посошок

Ну, вот и подана карета,
И похмелились кучера.
И в дымке нового рассвета –
Огни вчерашнего костра.
Гнедых коней впрягли надёжных,
И столбовой свободен тракт,
И шпага вынута из ножен,
Как будто нет пути назад.

Пришиты новые погоны,
И вылит на душу бальзам.
Святые отданы поклоны
Родным могилам и крестам.
Уж бьют копытами гнедые,
И пыль стряхнули с вензелей,
Долги погашены былые
Ценою новых векселей.

Со скрипом тронулась карета,
Просевши низко на осях.
И кучер правит на Манхэттен,
Кнут над гнедыми занося.
Вот, набирая обороты,
Колёса замесили грязь,
Но словно сзади держит кто-то,
Не отпускает, навалясь.

Всё тяжелей ступая в глину,
На шаг гнедые перешли.
Не пересилить пуповину,
Что протянулась из земли.
Так и себя не пересилить,
Хоть кажется – почти сумел.
За нашу слабость. За Россию.
За наш удел и наш предел.

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Remember that time when St. Javelin scammed NAFO turds for money on tickets to a summer beach party in Simferopol, a city that is 47km away from the closest beach in Crimea, and they never got refunded for it?

That's how retarded they are.

Pepperidge farm remembers.

@BazaFromOlga

How it started⬆️ How it's going⬆️

@BazaFromOlga