The government is provisional, a provisional screen; the second revolution, a screen on its side…

The government is provisional, a provisional screen; the second revolution, a screen on its side…
England has sniffed the air: it smells rich. The occupation of Baku has been played out by the book.
Smooth and hard, like an oaken egg, like a tub, the chief actor of the piece, blue from shaving.
Behind him, in tight little tunics, in walk-on parts, the Russian allies kick up dust along the streets.
What weather, Bill Atkinses, has blown you here?
They are all making for the oilfields, in every direction.
Priding himself on his gliding gait (let the north wind blow in his face), the oaken, clean-shaven, chief milord performs.
Then Wrangel and Yudenich are let loose upon the place,
While here England pumps oil into her ships.
Rest assured, what is there to discuss?
Wars are wars,
As they have been all along.
Winter and summer
The colouring is one,
Kipling still has something to say about it.
Only, clean-shaven master, spit out
Your black pipe, and I shall sing you
Kipling's ballad in my own way.

Literal translation

Boris Kornilov, 1930