Putin is a Rotenberg, and Rotenberg is a Putin, and one of them is a fraud, and othe other is rotten. But here is a poem for a change

What happened to Onegin’s Tatyana?

Don’t overshadow the plain!

For you are the modest one,

And your peak will remain

Despite the rain or any cloud!

Toward a poise of paired balance

(and every equilibrium demands

The subtle art of such coupled repair)

The cosmos with Russia moves and glides,

So say the village tongues, 

Extremes are being tempered,

So is the good just like the steel,

And the empty forms and keeps

Part of the new balancing slide,

So your passion, ancient love,

Can either moderate or strike

The world lording all around

In times of leveling that heave and puff

The lowest of the low unto Babel heights.

But only you must remain the (lonely) one

Whom gods won’t permit anything arrogant.

For you are the Lady with the Word and keys.

It’s the lot of a higher road, while keeping still

Just like a mountain above sagging plains,

Dispensing seasons, clouds and rains.

So, in Russia too, you let the base

Give airs and breath to the vile

And let them rule and exalt

The dead in burying the live

For the truth has to come out

Somehow—even if in spite,

After being abandoned,

Downtrodden, torn apart.

It is the law of heaven

To clean up the unclean

And to fill up all the cups

When their time is coming up.

It is the law of heaven

To prepare soulless nights

For the coming placid dawn

Like the nadir and the bottom

Of a belle that hopes for love.

Under the same ancient law

The Moon herself will invite

You to think beyond herself.

And so it is the law of fate

To undermine what moves

Away from nature’s own self

And let the modest survive.

And so you shine and glaze

—the blessed, yet unrecognized,

But all that would pass you by

Won’t endure or won’t remain.

And so like the old Egyptian guide

And guardian of the souls and land

You weigh the world and us

In your hands and heart.

And so you go on to radiate

In your noble, gracious call,

However deep be today’s bog,

However man gave on God.

And so you know—you may

Cherish, but never to possess.

You can touch, but no grasping

Is allowed or authorized.

For you are the mountain

And the receptive earth

With her joy concealed

Among the gold down dispersed.

And so you approach and progress

Like the hopeful, youthful May,

And success is certain—if, as always,

You remain true to your own self

—the new earth reborn and beatified,

Above the mountain’s stern fountain,

Above the mirror of the cleanest lake,

And kind like the verse’s end reversed.