tgoop.com/pozled/772
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Andrey Ledashev
The Torn Heart
Mom, forgive me, I'm not coming back now,
Not in Christmas, nor Maydays in spring.
Don't be waiting for me. There's no "somehow":
We won't meet anymore. That's the thing.
Slowly flows the Smorodina River,
We stay there, on the opposite banks.
Candles cry waxy tears, flames don't shiver,
Snow is covering the vanishing tracks...
Mom, I'm gone to the places so distant,
On my foot, through the fields, through the snow....
All my medals, please, mom, it's important,
Will be passed on to you, this I know.
When the commissar comes, you don't blame him,
He himself has been beaten at war.
In inside, he's not harsh, as he might seem,
Cause your pain is his pain, evermore.
Of my will, and to save friends and brothers,
I did cover that sneaky grenade...
Yes, I know what it worrying all mothers:
It was painless. I wasn't afraid.
Always young, I will stay with the young ones.
And the guys, whom the Death missed to grip,
Will return. And the newborns, the young sons
Will be named after me. Please, don't weep.
Dear Mom, there's a thing I would ask you:
Say a prayer for those, who still fight.
Russian soldiers need blessings - from you, too!
Pray for them with your kind inner light!
With each piece of your sacrosanct prayer,
You'll be healing your heart, badly torn...
I should go. Sun is rising. Take care!
Don't be sad, Mommy, you should live on!
https://www.tgoop.com/pozled/769
BY ПоZывной ЛЕДАЩЕВ
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