Push me against my back, hit in my face,
like any wind you’re elemental and erratic.
Give me a licking or unhurriedly caress,
play hide-and-seek – a child in father’s jacket.
Not telling me what winds await ahead –
dead calm, strong gale, dry hot or boreas.
As the entire world the only truth as old –
last breeze of mine shall fan the deadly face.
(translated from Russian)
My page on a Russian site: http://www.stihi.ru/avtor/boreaus
There is a war on for your mind: http://www.infowars.com/