Posted on Kadyrov’s Telegram channel on June 10, 2022.

Translated by Leo V.

My sidenote: If I had to name this poem, it would be Naïve Україна


Ukraine, Ukraine! What is the catch?

You are beautiful and naïve on the ruins of the epochs.

And now you are ruled by a mask of false goodness,

Those who burned Taras Bulba on the rapids near the Dnieper.


There are those that are so ridiculous – I’m not the only one who swears,

That following Hetman Mazepa, Rus’ was sold to the Swedes.

Or those, and then – more, who are with Petliura in shares,

Russian Kiev has offended Poland – in Deutschmarks, not in Rubles.


In those circles ugly freaks scurry around, in uniforms from the SS,

Their great-grandfathers at Brody [1944] found their worst end.

Here the Banderist demons are like a horde of nonhumans,

They burned our people alive in Odessa for the jubilant Maidan.


Here are those who vote in a hurry with their Ausweiss,

So that the residents of Donbass would come to a complete seam.

Ukraine, dearest mother, call your sons,

So that today, as before, Kiev would be taken with us again.


Do you remember, Ukrainian? As we walked shoulder to shoulder,

How they slurped from one bowl under a flickering candle.

Our grandfathers lived rotten, drank their bile before,

They gave their lives, they knew: the Motherland is one.


We walked to Berlin step by step in the damp footsteps of the enemy,

And under the arch of the Reichstag they became fraternized for the centuries.

Ukraine, Ukraine, what is the catch after all?

It’s a pity that you are naïve on the ruins of the epochs.

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