For the sake of memory they accomplish feats,
Clamber onto tribunes, paint pictures,
The Chosen companions give birth,
Expand the borders of the country.

Help one tear away from the matrix:
Hiding in the taiga and a pseudonym,
A return to stone and stick,
To find oneself alone.

The little turtle burrows into the silt
To forget the world of sharks.
To pray for the sinful “geniuses,”
Remembering victims and Draculas,
The monk locks himself in his cell.