We never try to cross any barriers.
We are willing to perish honestly.
We were on a white spring night,
In the wild, in the distance, in the jungle,
Sing like a nightingale on a branch.
Now the noise is over.
Before I step on the stage,
leaning against the giant pillar of the entrance,
Listen carefully to the echoes from everywhere,
Let the darkness of night drown me.
//
But I can still vaguely see the people who mourned me,
They sang "Eternal Rest",
Like singing for my mother back then.
The cold wind blows the dead leaves,
They fell into my grave.
The sound of the balalaika,
Still bright and fiery.
//
That's Lara!
My shyness, my intenseness.
My dodging, my stare.
The sunset in early autumn, the wilderness where the train gallops,
Sunflowers in a field hospital.
You are my boiling life itself.
When you read the poem I wrote for you,
You said,
This is clearly written by myself.
//
Yes.
You are the awakened me,
Let me rise above the mud and see the birds circling in the sky;
Because of you I love the coolness of snowflakes, the warmth of cellars,
Love the fragrance of earth and roots,
The home that love and Tonia work together from dawn to dusk.
//
Tonya, Sasha,
My beloved flesh and blood wife and children,
And Alexandrovich, the father-in-law,
We've been through so much separation that we can't be together until we die.
I had mistakenly recognized in the rush of fleeing the guerrillas,
Call for pursuit with the scream of the gossamer.
//
The world crumbles, the war horse loses its reins, the train turns over,
run over my poems,
I don't complain about that.
I just regret my medical skills,
But it was thrown at this earth-shaking piece of gauze.
I was born small,
Poems I sing with my soul,
Most of the tears in Yevgraf's eyes,
Slide over Little Tonia's balalaika.
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