My name is Vyacheslav.
 I am a resident of Kyiv.
Ukraine is a war—standing with Russian occupants.

Volunteering is my main duty.
Due to my health disturbance,
I have taken an active part in territorial defense.

I have written the poems. I would like to share them with You.

—Slava Konoval

Devil’s strengths

Bathing in the blood every 4 years for Putin is a great holiday,
then he starts enslaving people,
destroy houses and simply runaway,
and it doesn’t matter if today is Monday or Sunday,
from missiles, You do not hide in the subway.

Black grace cherishes devilish selfishness,
nothing will stop his aggressiveness,
an only force acts against force,
my mission to find and destroy an evil source.

Winged Neptune

In a burning funnel, the engine charges,
the sharp ballistic head does not feel the whim of touches,
Ukraine’s naval forces spare no effort,
in wartime, sailors still do not know the comfort.

Winged Neptune, the patron saint of rockets,
Neptune does not need energy from the planet or the socket,
ruins of the enemy navy more than impress.

Occupier, You are a weak ignoramus!

Occupier, You are a weak ignoramus,
You can’t take freedom away from the people.
Without chivalry will not become famous,
in the looting feeling the smell of fecal.

Occupier, bastard,
You rape the flowering of Ukrainian women,
beastly and perverted Your look on Your face plastered,
the war grabbed all bravery and good man.

Occupiers, run away,
there is still time,
Armed Forces of Ukraine
will cook from Russians the lime.

Do not steal the soul

Did You come to plunder, Russian soldier?
Are You jealous of Ukrainians who live better?
Is Ukraine a neighborhood molar?
Your mother won’t write You a letter.

Russian soldier, don't pretend to be deceived!
Russian soldier, do not weep with crocodile tears!
Your liar eyes from scare are retrieved,
warplanes are no longer heard in the peaceful airs.

Victory soon

Myrrh on the walls of the icon,
blood-soaked statuettes of Jesus,
a candle burns out, drops the piece of oin,
in the heart anxiety, as always, premonitions are heavy, precarious.

Prayers drive away evil every second,
let the executioners stop the
atrocities against the Ukrainian people,
The mockery in Bucha was a message to the world and an instructive lesson.
Rocket volleys will wake up the bell on the steeple.

Victory is here, wait a little longer,
On earth with weapons, the people are stronger.

Mariupol

The unconquered city is ablaze with shelling and bombing,
warriors are going with shields in their hands,
my heart can’t be calming,
they are fighting there without food and water,
Armed Forces save among civilians someone’s son or daughters.

I beg the higher powers to protect the soldiers,
that in the holy dome of heaven
warriors should be under the closures.

Burning cocktail

Mr. Molotov came up with a cunning recipe,
for heat popular protests,
arranged a hangover test,
a bottle of a mixture,
weapons are the best.

I’ll run to the tank and throw him a cocktail,
it will melt into detail.

Mr. Konoval’s response to acceptance of his poems:

Sincerely Yours,
Vyacheslav Konoval (Slava Konoval)