I know
The sad heart of the terrorist—
A single-minded heart
Which finds it impossible to cut asunder speech and act,
A heart that wants to speak with deeds
Instead of words, which one has been deprived of,
A heart that hurls at the foe the body encasing it—
This is a sorrow serious and fervent men forever have.
Sipping cold cocoa from a spoon
After some eternal endless debate,
I know from this slightly bitter taste
The sad sad heart
Of the terrorist.
We have read and argued fiercely,
But the gleam in our eyes is
Equal to the Russian youth of fifty years ago.
We are arguing about what to do.
But not one person clenches a fist and slams the table,
Shouting “V narod!”1
We know what we want,
And we know what the people want,
And we know what we have to do.
Truly, we know better than the Russian youth of fifty years ago.
But not one person clenches a fist and slams the table,
Shouting “V narod!”
All gathered here are young,
Youth always creates what is new in the world.
We know that soon the old people will die, and we will finally win.
Behold! The gleam is in our eyes! The fierceness of our debates!
But not one person clenches a fist and slams the table,
Shouting “V narod!”
Ah, the candles have been changed for the third time,
The corpses of tiny beetles float in our cups,
The zeal of the young women does not diminish.
Yet in their eyes, the exhaustion after endless discussions.
Still, not one person clenches a fist and slams the table,
Shouting “V narod!”
“V narod!” means “Into the people!” ↩