"Alyosha, do you remember the roads in Smolensk"
Konstantin Simonov
Alyosha, do you remember the roads in Smolensk,
There is a continuous, pouring rain,
Weary women brought us clay pots,
Afraid of the rain, put them in your arms like a child,
They secretly wiped their tears on the sidelines,
Follow us and pray in a whisper: "God bless you!"
And in accordance with the old rules of the great Russia,
Repeatedly claimed that they were the sweethearts of the soldiers.
Instead of using miles, we often use tears to calculate the distance of the journey,
The road stretches forward, and hills and hills hide its traces
Village after village, village after village, village and cemetery,
As if the whole of Russia is made up of them,
As if behind every village in Russia,
Our ancestors, united as one,
Spread out your arms like a cross to protect the living.
Pray for the gods for their unbelievers.
Did you know that the motherland may not mean ordinary things after all
The tall buildings where I live happily in the city,
It refers to these rural dirt roads that our ancestors have walked for generations,
And the ordinary cross in front of their Russian tomb.
I don’t know how you are, but I am because of the war
It’s the first time I set foot on these dirt roads in the countryside,
From village to village, take away women’s tragic songs,
Take away the tears of the widow, take away the yearning of the country road.
Alyosha, do you remember the farmhouse on the outskirts of Borisov,
The sorrowful cry of the crying girl who helped the corpse,
The gray-haired old woman in a plush coat,
The white man seemed to be wearing a shroud.
But what should we say to them, and what should we do for them?
But the old woman understood the depth of suffering with her women’s sensitivity,
Do you remember that she said to us: "My own flesh and blood,
Go ahead, we will be waiting for you. "
"We will be waiting for you!" the ranch shouted to us.
"We will wait for you!" the forest declared to us.
Alyosha, do you know that every night I dream of—
Their shouts followed me closely.
According to the habits of the Russians, comrades-in-arms
Just thrown away the flames on the Russian soil behind me
So he stood up and lost his life in front of us,
The bullet temporarily spared you and me.
But I’m convinced again and again that life has passed its deadline,
I'm still very proud anyway--
In order to give birth to the most gracious Russian land where I raised me,
For me to be lucky enough to die on this land,
Let us come to this world for the Russian mother,
To send us to the battlefield for Russian women,
At the same time, he hugged me three times according to Russian habits.
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