Three sons came to their mother,
three warriors, each one different from the other.
One fought for the poor,
the second for the wealthy,
the third, with nowhere to use his power –
is simply a bandit.
“Oh, Momma!” says the first hazel-eyed one,
“it’s a great wide world out there!
We’re not the only ones who battle with misery,
We’re not the only ones burdened by misfortune,
beyond the sea people suffer in the very same way,
for the accursed rich are everywhere.”
“Oh, Mom!” says the second dark-skinned one,
“why should we think about the far-off world,
when we have everything from nature:
grain, coal, and the boughs of trees.
Let the foreign, the alien, and the hated
be hung by the neck on these boughs.”
“Oh, Mother!” says the third low-browed one,
“chase your sons out of the house,
so they don’t look ridiculous or anger me.
A big strong fist –
that is freedom, brotherhood, and the happiness of the land:
I don’t distinguish between rich or poor.”
The first one’s saber flashed!
The second one’s saber sparked a fire,
And the third one’s dagger...
“Oh, son, my darling son!”
The bandit’s lying dead,
And the two brothers took up their fight again –
no one can pry them apart.
1923