The Thirst for Hatred by Liubomyr Vovnianko

 (The Confession of a Thinker)

*the existential monologue of a surviving warrior*

The world is absurd?!

I hate them. These are real demons on the surface of the Earth, modern monsters that need to be destroyed for the common good of humanity.

I still do not understand why they destroy everything in their path, despite the lack of any sense. It turns out that it just brings them joy, they like to spread horror and death to everything they touch.

The Cossack lowered his headdress, leaning on the side of his warhorse.

I still cannot realize how they can kill without remorse. The bells of their cities ring just like the bells in Kyiv, which is why our ataman has stopped the advanced cavalry units right in front of the gates, sparing civilians – the core of the evil one.

They are the spawn of the Devil, disguised under the masks of revelation. They recognize the same gods to whom I offer my prayers before every battle, where I take their mangled sinful lives in defence of my home. How can barbarians share religion with us and call themselves neighbours?

The Catholics become our brothers, and even the “busurmans”, who desecrate our southern lands with their Muslim faith, become allies, – only this [moskovian] breed of slaves is dishonourable.

Of course, the Poles did us harm, and Bohdan the Father responded to them with dignity. They were slipping in from the West, encroaching on our lands on the right side of the Saint Dnipro. They made the clear truth that they were not our friends. Only a blind man cannot see the difference. When we honour St. Mary, they fill their bellies with their indulgences.

The Ottomans were also defeated by Sirko the Invincible, and, despite the historical enmity, they [Muslims] became perhaps our greatest helpers in the fight against both the Moscow and Polish invaders.

The Muscovites have never looked at us as equals. In their view, we Rusyns are in a better light. In an effort to reach us in some way, in a constant inferiority complex, they have tried to impersonate us, to imitate our culture, to steal our history, to bring themselves closer to the European family, away from the Mongolian steppe that is so fitting for them by blood.

I am not afraid of them. I am overwhelmed with a sense of disgust and despair.

I hate them.

The Cossack could have continued his monologue for a long time, but the bugles sounded.

He and his comrades had to prepare for another battle, a potential meeting with death. Despite this, neither he nor the other Ukrainian soldiers were afraid of death. They were filled with hatred for the treacherous enemy and a sense of duty to their families.

“Muscovites must die”.

Such were their thoughts before nothing could stop their persistent attack.

It was the Battle of Konotop in 1659. All of Moscow’s elite units were destroyed.

This battle is one of the most famous victories of Ukrainians over Moscovia.

Sacred history, after all, loves its cyclical nature, which we are also witnessing today.