It was very hard for me
to speak with the West
through translators,
usually Russians
petrified by intelligence services:
KGB or those related to them
one way or another.
Sometimes we have Kyrgyz mediators,
but they are also corrupted
by Soviet or post-Soviet propaganda:
hating our own culture and nascent freedom,
heavily abscessed
by dead glory and greatness of the USSR,
ardently dreaming, poor ones,
to return to that golden cage and Eden.
So damn all of them!
I want to learn English,
to escape from
various interpretations and interpreters
and traitors, and crack down
in the hub of the crossroad
of Big Game.
Zamir Osorov (20th century) Kyrgyzstan
Source: Poemhunter (with some revisions by B Levitan)
nice find. thank you.
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