I scratch at my own skin,
Ripping open old gashes,
Darkened crimson meeting the hot, new, blood.
I hear gunshots in my head,
I see the deaths of my own people,
I feel all their pain and suffering, along with their fear and anxiety,
The taste of metallic blood, coming in large amounts into my mouth.
"Ach! Ahng!" I cough it onto the snow covered ground,
I`m freezing yet boiling over at the same time.
"Ahhh!" I scream at the top of my lungs, bruises and scratches appearing along my body.
I can`t take it,
The inner conflict,
These malicious voices in my head,
The screams of innocent mothers and children being killed by their own family.
It`s ripping me apart.
Yet there is one thing keeping me from form tearing myself apart,
The voice, singing as he looms over me.
"Баю-баюшки-баю,"
The voice is soft, yet it pronunciation is perfect, so I understand, every syllable.
"Не ложися на краю."
He takes one of my clawing hands, and finally stops it with his own.
"Придёт серенький волчок,"
The voice is hypnotic,
"Он ухватит за бочок"
The singer runs his free hand over my stomach, running over the gashes I`ve caused.
"И утащит во лесок"
"Под ракитовый кусток."
The singing stops.
Yet, I can still feel his touch.
Why did you stop?
I try to open my mouth, but only blood comes out.
I try to open my eyes, but the blood from my head has blinded them.
"Baby, baby, rock-a-bye
On the edge you mustn't lie
Or the little grey wolf will come
And will nip you on the tum,
Tug you off into the wood
Underneath the willow-root."
The singing returned.
I smile as my head is brought into the lap of the singer and my heart beat slows.
Maybe ...If I fall asleep... this will all ..be gone in the morning.
I think, my smile widening the best it can.
My breathing slows and the singer runs his hand over my forehead and through my hair.
"Good night my little Jao.."
'Good night Russia...'