In Foreign Lands

Empty building dazed in its wilderness
Echoes of those hands that built
Embedded in wood and paint, these rooms
Nowhere to be seen, its inhabitants
The ones behind desks, at work
The chosen ones- our leaders

Stand there in near perfection
The constitution and glorious walls
In mourning, in disappearance
The people of this nation
The whole state and its leaders
Away in foreign lands, away from us all

The usual stance, the old traditions
Away from us all, in lands different
Different names they have,
Some call democracy, some dialogues
In inventions, foreign and personal
For plunder, for temptations known
Hear we all day, from miles thousand
Across celestial skies, across those oceans

Too distant our hope and dreams
Too distant these politicians of this nation
In distance, remain our promises
The usual disease and its symptoms
Achieve we will nothing only despair
Expectations, such an ugly word
From these cockroaches of disruption
Leaders of our nation, such an ugly word

Of no good and use, your return my friends
Of no good and use, these grand mausoleums
Places against your name and titles
What good is an empty grave to us?
Tired we have become, from this old ritual
Of worship, only a mere mortal you are
Grant us one last wish, if you can
Don’t return; don’t come back, for us
Hear you not these verdicts in your stupor
Of no good and use, these grand mausoleums!

Kashkin