A SONG ABOUT THE EXPECTATION OF THE FALL OF THE NATIONALIST ORIGINAL SYSTEM IN THE STATE AND CIVIL SYSTEM OF UKRAINE:
"DON'T THINK LOW ABOUT THE MOMENTS...
THE TIME WILL COME WE WILL REALLY UNDERSTAND...
THEY WHISTLE LIKE BULLETS AT THE TEMPLE:
FALLS, FALLS, FALLS...
THE FALLS ARE COMPRESSED INTO YEARS,
FALLS COMPRESSED INTO MOMENTS...
AND WE DON'T UNDERSTAND SOMETIMES
WHERE IS THE FIRST FALL, WHERE IS THE LAST...
EVERYONE HAS HIS OWN REASON IN THE FALL,
OWN BELLS, OWN MARK,
FALLS BETRAY: SHAME ON WHOM,
WHO IS GLORY, AND WHO IS TEACHING..
THE RAIN IS WEAVED FROM MANY FALLS...,
COMES WITH THE NEWS "WATER" - ORDINARY...,
AND WE ARE SOMETIMES WAITING FOR ALMOST SIX YEARS...,
WHEN IT COMES, ITS FALL...
IT WILL COME BIG, LIKE A SICK...,
A SIP OF WATER DURING A CHANGE OF GOVERNMENT...,
AND IN GENERAL, YOU MUST REMEMBER YOUR INFINITE DEBT...,
FROM THE FIRST FALL TO THE LAST...
DON'T THINK LOW ABOUT THE MOMENTS...
THE TIME WILL COME WE WILL PROBABLY SEE...
THEY WILL PASS AND GO TO THE TIME OF YEARS:
FALLS, FALLS, FALLS..."
My heart felt like it was on fire -
Gray hair at the temples.
The past has flown away like a river,
But my soul is in tears.
Soldiers to fight for the Motherland
They walked step by step.
They believed in Victory sacredly -
The enemy did not break them.
There was a groan all over Russia:
Hunger, torture, fear.
Death's scythe mowed down people
In villages, cities.
Retreated in '41
With horror in my chest:
- Machine guns, tanks, where are you?
What should you go into battle with?
Died in a meat grinder:
The Fritzes walked like a wall
But the Germans did not know the Russians,
A terrible battle awaited them.
For birches and hillocks,
For my home.
For the Caucasus, Kuban and Volga,
For the great Don.
To all the soldiers who fought
Our deepest bow...
For the soldiers who died in battle,
Bell ringing...
Tanya loved cats. And not so much boys, because of their redundancy. At least she never brought a boy into the house with a broken leg, sore eyes and other cute health problems.
I'll go quietly into the church. I will light a candle for my family. I’ll quietly ask God: Take care of them, I pray. But I don’t ask for myself, and I don’t dare ask. I thank you, Lord, for everything I have.
Wives who prefer to push around a stupid husband rather than obey a smart one are reminiscent of those who on the road prefer to lead a blind man rather than follow a man who can see and knows the way.
Money is money. It’s nice when you have something to pay for an apartment, a restaurant, etc., there is a banal saying - money doesn’t buy happiness, but with it you buy the freedom to live the life you like.
We are stewing in a strange compote,
Where they lie behind your eyes and to your face,
Where everyone individually is against,
And together we are strongly in favor.
When following your path, don’t grab anyone’s hands, trying to pull them along with you, but don’t push away those who are on the same path as you.
Leaves, like people, are not ready to give up yet. They hold tightly to the past, and even if they cannot remain green, I swear, they fight to the last for the place that has served them as home for so long.
I saw more peace in her eyes than outside the window.
My heart felt like it was on fire -
Gray hair at the temples.
The past has flown away like a river,
But my soul is in tears.
Yu. Drunina
I am twenty years old. I am leaving my native village after staying in my father’s house for ten New Year’s days. Dad escorted me to the train on a horse harnessed to a beautiful painted carriage. All around is white and white, the snow sparkles and plays with reflections in the sun. For the first time I talked to him about his past, about the war. This was the only frank and sincere conversation with my father in my entire life. It’s very sad, but neither he nor I ever had enough time for intimate conversations. The road is long, and my father first slowly answers my questions, then he speaks about the war and life. Orders, medals, injury in a naval battle in the Gulf of Finland, the reason for relocation to their native lands, although remote, but clean and quiet. He has no regrets. We will grow up and move to cities, and he and mom will remain here; there is no better place for old people in the whole wide world. What about the war? War…
Can you imagine the speed of a torpedo boat? ...knots! And you are racing on hundred-gallon cigar barrels full of gasoline and you know - the slightest spark and you are ashes. The delight of speed drowns out even the fear of the upcoming battle. We sank twice: two destroyers - two awards! They hit us once - it was hell... We got out miraculously, the guys from another boat picked us up. You saw the wound, remember as a child you kept asking, dad, show me? And how many guys died! Eh, move your legs, darling! - he shouted at the horse and waved the reins. His eyes sparkled youthfully.
I imagined a picture of the battle, torpedo boats rushing through enemy mortar fire, and somehow suddenly everything immediately penetrated my heart.
Naturally, in early childhood he and his brother asked their father about the orders, and he, of course, told why and when he received them. Short. Modestly.
Why not about war and battles? Because they didn’t ask their father about them. Because they were overloaded with the history of the Great Patriotic War from an early age. Great war, great feats. Songs, poems, literature, essays. The names of the commanders, the names of the Heroes... The pathos of their greatness overshadowed the names of ordinary soldiers of this war - her father and mother. Did they have enough official honor and respect? Maybe. There was a lack of sincere understanding by their own children of the hell of war through which they went through with their comrades.
Mom only once, after persistent request, told me about how she ended up in the war. First, to a unit near Leningrad, where they were fed frozen potatoes. Then there was Kronstadt, blown by icy winds, where she once froze almost to death at her post with a rifle in her hand. Mom recalled how the Germans dropped incendiary bombs from airplanes onto the warehouses they, the girls, guarded, which had to be extinguished, otherwise the warehouses would explode. Mom talked about the hungry besieged Leningrad, about her own eternal hunger... and about love... such young girls could not help but fall in love with the brave sailors, despite the war and death, and the sailors, never knowing about it, did not return from the battle...
And there was no pathos in her story, even when she talked about the long-awaited Victory Day. This is Victory Day - with tears in our eyes.
Of course war is hell. My father recalled this hell alone over a glass of vodka, usually on the third day after any holiday. Over the previous two days, his soul had time to relax and open to memories where the happiness of youth was mixed with the horrors of war. Mom, I and my brother had long been accustomed to this traditional day of remembrance and... did not pay attention, regretting only that this prolonged drinking was ruining his heart. And my father sat alone at the table in front of a glass and talked to himself about the war, his dead comrades and cried. Sometimes my mother, freed from housework, would sit down next to me, and my father would happily address her, and my mother would quietly ask:
- Vanya, maybe that’s enough... Again the war, again the blockade... There’s no need to reopen the wounds...
- Do you remember how you didn’t return from the battle... let’s remember them...
“I remember, Vanya, I remember,” my mother answered sadly, “but I won’t pour any more.” Your health is not enough to remember everyone.
Sometimes I walked past my father to my room, who did not like to see him in this form - tears do not suit men. And the exhausted father was already whispering after her: - My daughter... has grown... - and smiled happily...
She would have approached him, hugged him and kissed his graying head, but she, a stupid girl, shed tears over the other heroes.
And only on this road to the station did I realize with all my being that her father was a Hero, a simple ordinary Hero of the Great War. Thank him for having him. It’s only a pity that I didn’t tell him these words again.
I’ll die, I’ll even crawl on my knees to Kronstadt! – the father said quietly with inexpressible sadness, ending this intimate conversation of theirs.
“We’ll go there together,” I promised him.
In the bustle of life, she never fulfilled this promise.
Today I would definitely hug and kiss my father, take him to Kronstadt, but neither my mother nor my father has been with me for a long time. Forgive me, my dear and beloved father and mother... simple privates of that terrible war who liberated our Motherland. Today is Victory Day. I can only light a candle in front of your framed portraits and quietly say: we, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, sacredly remember you and are proud of you.
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Verse Bow to WWII veterans read
My heart felt like it was on fire -
Gray hair at the temples.
The past has flown away like a river,
But my soul is in tears.
Soldiers to fight for the Motherland
They walked step by step.
They believed in Victory sacredly -
The enemy did not break them.
There was a groan all over Russia:
Hunger, torture, fear.
Death's scythe mowed down people
In villages, cities.
Retreated in '41
With horror in my chest:
- Machine guns, tanks, where are you?
What should you go into battle with?
Died in a meat grinder:
The Fritz walked like a wall...
But the Germans did not know the Russians,
A terrible battle awaited them.
For birches and hillocks,
For my home.
For the Caucasus, Kuban and Volga,
For the great Don.
To all the soldiers who fought
Our deepest bow...
For the soldiers who died in battle,
Bell ringing...
EVERLASTING MEMORY
Unknown Soldier
The stars are burning brightly,
And in the Kremlin garden
Unknown Soldier
He sleeps in front of everyone.
Above the granite slab
The eternal light is unquenchable.
The whole country is an orphan
She leaned over him.
He didn't hand over the machine gun
And my cap.
Unknown Soldier
Fell in a fierce battle.
Unknown Soldier -
Someone's son or brother,
He's never been since the war
Won't come back.
The stars are burning brightly,
And in the Kremlin garden
Unknown Soldier
He sleeps in front of everyone.
We lit a light for him
Under the Kremlin wall,
And his grave is
All the earth, all the earth.
(Yu. Korinets)
Wherever you go or go...
Wherever you go or go,
But stop here
To the grave this way
Bow with all your heart.
Whoever you are - a fisherman,
miner,
Scientist or shepherd, -
Remember forever: here lies
Your very best friend.
For both you and me
He did everything he could:
He did not spare himself in battle,
And he saved his homeland.
(M. Isakovsky)
Soviet soldier
Over the free Danube,
Above the glorious Dnieper
Soulful songs
They write about him.
In the mountain forests,
In the vastness of the plains
He is remembered
Both Czech and Romanian.
“The village was burning,”
The Croatian remembers,
He threw himself into the flames
Soviet soldier!
From a burning house,
From smoke and fire
He endured, brave,
The boy - me!
Slovakian said:
- And he helped me -
Cold, hungry
He gave me a piece of bread.
Named after his father
My daughter.
He winked at me jokingly:
“Look more fun!”
The Romanian woman sighed:
- There was a fierce battle,
me from the shrapnel
He covered himself...
He is killed, he lies
Under the hill near the village.
Kalina above him
Rose and blossomed.
“No,” said the Bulgarian, “
He is alive, not killed!
I saw him:
He is on guard.
He stands on guard
And vigilant and brave,
To disturb the world
Nobody dared!
(S. Pogorelovsky)
Remember
Remember how the guns thundered,
How soldiers died in the fire
In forty-one
Forty-fifth -
The soldiers went to battle for the truth.
Remember how the earth shook and went blind,
As the dawn rose from the ashes,
Thunder of guns
Let's not forget
We are with you.
Remember, both thunderstorms and wind are in our power,
We are responsible for happiness and tears,
On the planet
Our children -
The younger generation lives...
Remember that the spring shoots rustle, -
Don't forget these terrible years!
Our path is difficult
Stand up people
Life is calling!
(A. Dostal)
Memory is our conscience
There's war again
Blockade again...
Or maybe we should forget about them?
I sometimes hear:
"No need,
There’s no need to reopen wounds.”
It's true that you're tired
We are from stories of war
And they scrolled through about the blockade
There are quite enough poems.
And it may seem:
You're right
And the words are convincing.
But even if it's true
This is true -
Wrong!
So that again
On the terrestrial planet
That winter never happened again
We need,
So that our children
They remembered this
Like us!
I have no reason to worry
So that that war is not forgotten:
After all, this memory is our conscience.
She,
As a force, we need...
(Yu. Voronov)
Unknown Soldier
The days flew by like stop stations,
Where is he, black '41?
Horses attacking tanks
Is there a burning sky above Moscow?
And the snow is white like camouflage suits,
And the snow is crimson, like bandages,
Unknown soldiers fall
Near an unnamed height.
Now the wound no longer smokes,
The cloud around the mouth disappears...
But maybe she's not nameless
Is this height tiny?
Isn’t that what is called immortality?..
New times have come
The wells of oblivion are deep,
But the war is not forgotten...
There is no escape from the past,
Once again the war is knocking on our souls,
Burns, burns the heart
Nobility with half the pain.
(Yu. Drunina)
Bow to WWII veterans
My heart felt like it was on fire -
Gray hair at the temples.
The past has flown away like a river,
But my soul is in tears.
Soldiers to fight for the Motherland
They walked step by step.
They believed in Victory sacredly -
The enemy did not break them.
There was a groan all over Russia:
Hunger, torture, fear.
Death's scythe mowed down people
In villages, cities.
Retreated in '41
With horror in my chest:
- Machine guns, tanks, where are you?
What should you go into battle with?
Died in a meat grinder:
The Fritz walked like a wall...
But the Germans did not know the Russians,
A terrible battle awaited them.
For birches and hillocks,
For my home.
For the Caucasus, Kuban and Volga,
For the great Don.
To all the soldiers who fought
Our deepest bow...
For the soldiers who died in battle,
Bell ringing...
(Yu. Drunina)
Memory of forty-one
Oh, dawn after a sleepless night,
And the grass in tin dew,
And the barrier is raised like a knife
Over the rough neck of the highway!..
We are walking –
and we bow our heads,
And it chills us and draws us to sleep.
On a country train, in a peaceful carriage
The lieutenant brought us to the war.
We don't know the outcome of this battle.
The enemy is still rushing forward.
My comrade will not meet Victory,
He will die for his Motherland tomorrow.
I'm getting old, living in the present
I'm slowly walking towards the sunset, –
So why do I dream more and more often,
As if I
–
in forty-one?
It's like I'm young again, like before,
And my friends walk alive
And not yet wreaths, but hopes
The Fatherland entrusts them...
(V. Shefner)
In the photo in the newspaper...
In the photograph in the newspaper
Not clearly depicted
Fighters, still almost children,
Heroes of the World War.
They were filming before the fight -
Four people in an embrace by the ditch.
And the sky was blue
There was green grass.
Nobody knows their last names
There are no songs or books about them.
Here is someone's son and someone's darling,
And someone's first student.
They lay down on the battlefield,
Those who barely began to live,
And the sky was blue
There was green grass.
Forgetting that bitter year is not close
We could never
All over Russia there are obelisks,
Like souls torn from the earth.
...They covered life with themselves,
Those who barely began to live,
So that the sky is blue,
There was green grass.
(R. Kazakova)
To the unknown soldier
He died far away from his family,
And the date of his death is unknown to us...
To the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
Famous soldiers approached...
We still keep this image
–
The boy lay tormented by lead,
And he didn’t have a military book with him
–
She died in battle along with him.
Let us not know his last name,
–
He was
–
we know
–
faithful to the end.
And we bow our heads in silence
Before the immortal feat of a fighter.
And the friendship of warriors is unshakably holy,
She never dies!
We are in arms with our brother
They erected a monument for many years to come!
Let's unite the faithful hearts
And let's say, no matter how great the loss is,
–
Let our fighter have no last name,
–
There is a title of Russian soldier!
(M. Svetlov)
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier!
Oh, how many there are from the Volga to the Carpathians!
In the smoke of battles dug once
Soldiers with sapper shovels.
Green bitter mound by the road,
In which they are forever buried
Dreams, hopes, thoughts and worries
An unknown defender of the country.
Who has been in battles and knows the front line,
Who lost a comrade in the war,
He fully knew pain and rage,
When he was digging his last “trench.”
Behind the march –
march, behind the battle
–
new fight!
When were the obelisks built?!
Board and pencil stubs,
After all, that’s all that was at hand!
The last "service record" of a soldier:
"Ivan Fomin" and nothing more.
And just below are two short dates
His birth and death.
But two weeks of torrential rains,
And only dark gray remains
A piece of wet, swollen plywood,
And no last name on it.
Guys are fighting hundreds of miles away.
And here, twenty steps from the river,
Green mound in wildflowers –
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier...
But the Motherland does not forget the fallen!
How a mother never forgets
Neither fallen nor missing,
The one who is always alive for his mother!
Yes, there is no such thing as oblivion for courage.
That's why he died in battle
The elders call out at verification
Like a warrior standing in line!
And therefore, as a sign of heartfelt memory
All over the country from the Volga to the Carpathians
In living flowers they burn day and night
Rays of the native five-pointed star.
The rays fly solemnly and sacredly,
To meet in a silent grip,
Over the ashes of the Unknown Soldier,
What sleeps in the ground in front of the gray Kremlin!
And from the rays, crimson like a banner,
On a spring day the fanfare rings,
A flame ignited like a symbol of glory –
Holy flame of eternal fire!
(E. Asadov)
At the eternal flame
I'm always scared to write about this:
Having lived my life in the midst of ringing silence,
Dedicate your words to the beautiful
People who did not return from the war.
Like the heart of a fallen soldier
The flame of the eternal flame beats.
Victory Day is a sad date,
I have a bunch of pain in my heart.
Kneeling reverently,
I place a bouquet at the foot.
Like the fire of burned settlements,
The crimson dawn flared.
And the gray-haired veterans hurry
To remember those who died in that war,
And the wounds left by the war
They seem to be doubly worried.
Leave raindrops
A wet mark on the stone cheeks,
Monuments that seem to be alive
They hold the world saved in their arms.
I want people to remember
Was it conquered at what cost?
So that my children and grandchildren know
About the war from books and movies.
Post-war song
The cannonades suffocated
There is silence in the world,
Once upon a time on the mainland
The war is over.
Believe and love.
Just don't forget this,
Don't forget this
Just don't forget!
How the sun rose in the burning
And the darkness swirled
And in the river between the banks
Blood and water flowed.
There were black birches,
Long years.
Tears were cried
Tears are cried
Sorry, not forever.
The cannonades suffocated
There is silence in the world,
Once upon a time on the mainland
The war is over.
We will live, meet the sunrises,
Believe and love.
Just don't forget this,
Don't forget this
Just don't forget!
(R. Rozhdestvensky)
There are twenty million of us
From unknown to famous,
Which the years are not free to defeat,
No, we didn’t disappear in total smoke,
Where the path to the top was not straight.
We also appear in our wives' dreams as young men,
And our mothers dream of boys.
And on Victory Day we come down from our pedestals,
And the light in the windows has not yet gone out,
We are all from privates to generals
We are invisibly among you.
The war has a sad beginning day,
And on this day you are drunk with joy.
We are not forgotten by centuries-old dreams,
And every time at the Eternal Flame
It is your duty to consult with us,
As if bowing his head in thought.
And let your worries never leave you
To know the will of those who did not return from the war,
And before rewarding someone
And before the judgment of guilt.
All that we defended in the trenches
Or they returned, rushing into the breakthrough,
They bequeathed to you to protect and protect,
Having laid down my only lives.
Like on medals cast after us,
We are all equal before the Fatherland
We are twenty million unforgotten,
Those killed who did not return from the war.
Where the rock scar gapes in the clouds,
Any hour from the sun to the moon
The funeral bell tolls above us
And the wedding roar pours from above.
And even though the military registration and enlistment offices wrote us off,
But the enemy will have to take into account
That even dead soldiers will go into battle,
When the alarm calls for the living.
Be averse, it's a hell of a time.
But we're ready on the front line
Resurrected
to die again, one and all,
So that no one alive would die there.
And you have to worry about a lot of things,
Without taking a step back from evil,
To our unsullied conscience
Maintain a decent alignment.
Live long, live righteously,
Seeking the whole world towards brotherhood
match,
And do not blaspheme any of the nations,
Keeping your own honor at its zenith.
What names are not on the gravestones!
Their sons left all the tribes.
We are twenty million unforgotten,
Those killed who did not return from the war.
The signal call of the falling stars flickers,
And the branches of the weeping willows are bowed.
The funeral bell is ringing over us,
And the wedding roar pours from above.
(R. Gamzatov, translation by Y. Kozlovsky)
Will
Rising above the bed,
At the hour of death
For his son he dictated:
“I give you my native land,
Which I won again.
So that you don't dare
No one will hurt her,
You, continuing the glorious path of your father,
Grow big
To see her all,
Understand it with your soul to the end.
Write, sister, write...
Our region is blizzard,
Where you were born, –
Write it like that–
Know how to love
With boundless love,
Know how to love
With all the tenderness of my soul.
Look my son
Don't spill it drop by drop,
But, life and work,
And loving glory
You learn courage
Do not even hope,
That someone will think for you.
The time will come
And dear spring
By the movement of the meadow grass
You will go into life
Don't go out without a song
Don't lower your cheerful head.
It is not given as a gift from above,
Knowing how to live and overcome everything,
I did everything,
So that you can hear her
I recognized her and was able to win her.
So that in difficult times
Any test
You haven’t extinguished the loyalty in your chest...
Wrote in a moment of lucidity
And in the fullness of my spiritual strength."
(V. Fedorov)
I serve the Soviet Union!
The war ended in victory.
Those years are behind us.
Medals and orders are burning
On many people's chests.
Who wears the military order
For exploits in battle,
And who is for the feat of labor
In your native land.
* * *
Orlov Georgy –
Officer
Air Regiment,
Showed an example in battle
Bolshevik fighter.
He opened his guards account
On the banks of the Desna,
And the twentieth plane was shot down
On the last day of the war.
* * *
Orlov's brother –
Orlov Stepan
Fought on a tank
And I saw many different countries
–
Where have you been?
Four tigers, five panthers
He hit it with a cannon.
Fearless Russian officer
He was awarded for this.
* * *
Baltic Nikolay Orlov,
Third brother in a row
I was ready to lay down my head
Outside the city of Leningrad.
More than once he led the attack,
I won with a fight,
He was awarded for his bravery
Favorite admiral.
* * *
Orlov Nikita for three days
He didn’t leave his workshop.
"My country needs armor! –
He told people.
–
Let me live in the rear now,
Away from the front, -
As a soldier, I was given an order,
I'm at war too!"
* * *
The battalion goes on the attack,
The soldiers shout: "Hurray!"
Crawls forward, hearing a groan,
Military sister.
Orlova Zoya! Be proud –
Your feat is not forgotten,
And the Order of the Red Star
He talks about this.
* * *
Embraced by a crimson glow
Wide horizon.
The train arrived, brought soldiers
To the Belorussian Front.
Who is the locomotive under bombing,
Risking his life, did he drive?
Orlova Vera this post
Entrusted to the Komsomol.
* * *
Sergei Orlov entered Berlin.
And among other words
He drew on the Reichstag:
"Sergei Orlov was here!"
About the glorious, military path
The sapper will tell you.
Soldier's medal on the chest
He still wears it to this day.
* * *
Fire from German batteries
The height is covered,
But Andrey Orlov did not leave
From my post.
The communist did not flinch in battle,
Didn't drop the phone.
And for courage there was a signalman
Awarded a medal.
* * *
Orlova Klava is twenty years old,
And it is not in vain that she is honored:
That there is no better tractor driver,
Word is going around.
She –
striker of the fields,
And they know in the villages
That Kalinin himself personally told her
He presented the medal in the Kremlin.
* * *
Orlov Pavlusha –
younger brother,
Like a schoolboy in those years
Was not awarded any awards
But it doesn't matter!
And he, like a little fighter,
He was with us at a terrible hour –
He stood up to the machine, he took the cutter
AND
–
completed the order.
* * *
And this order is worn by the mother. –
Thank you!–
let's tell her.
She managed to raise
Ten children.
She managed to lay
In their souls, in their hearts
The impulse to serve the Fatherland,
Be persistent until the end
Do not expect mercy from the enemy,
Don't retreat in battle
And, if necessary, give your life
For your homeland!
(S. Mikhalkov)
Mass graves
And widows do not cry for them.
Someone brings them a bouquet of flowers
And the Eternal Flame lights up.
Here the earth used to rear up,
And now granite slabs.
There's not one here
personal destiny –
All destinies are merged into one.
And in the Eternal Flame you see a tank bursting into flames,
Burning Russian huts
Burning Smolensk and the burning Reichstag,
The burning heart of a soldier.
There are no tear-stained widows at mass graves
–
Stronger people come here.
There are no crosses on mass graves,
But does that make it any easier?
(V. Vysotsky)
While the memory is alive!
The volleys of our guns died down long ago,
And in the bomb crater there is grass and ants...
But harsh people did not forget the war
And they laugh through their tears,
After all, the memory is alive!
They remember campaigns and distant countries,
And simple words from the heart of the people.
They remember the faces of friends who left so early.
Their words and smiles
–
After all, the memory is alive!
They remember the spring of 1945...
My head was spinning with happiness then!
Those who died in campaigns did not recognize her,
But their friends remember everything,
After all, the memory is alive!
This memory goes deeper and deeper,
And the leaves rustle on the branches, turning green...
Running will never drown out her time!
After all, the soul is young,
While the memory is alive!
(Z. Chebotareva)
In Treptower Park...
There are white birches in Treptower Park,
Like Russian widows they stand
And they shed tears
And not dew
At the graves of fraternal soldiers.
Oh birch trees!
You are the sadness of Russia,
Widow's inescapable melancholy
Through bad weather, filled with grief,
Brought here from afar.
Brought
Placed forever
At the steps of mournful silence.
From that time on, without closing your eyelids,
You bring dreams to soldiers.
They dream of Ryazan expanses,
Astrakhan flood plains reeds
And invigorating our hearts to the point of pain
The chimes strike in the morning silence.
Oh birch trees,
White birches!
Part of Russia,
Part of my soul!
The sun won't extinguish your tears
The breeze will not rustle in the leaves...
Heavy polished slabs
And as severe as retribution steel.
Son of Russia with red granite
Through you he looks into his native distance.
He sees Russia as far as Vilyuysk,
He hears his native speech...
Silence.
And you can hear
How to crunch
He clutches his drawn sword!
(N. Ageev)
Year 41 - year 45...
And in forty-one,
And in forty-fifth
Boys' War
Took me as a soldier
Broke fates
They're so fragile
Crushed people
Like in a meat grinder.
Made trouble
War is a villain
There's a stupid bullet there,
And life is a penny.
Not everyone is a warrior
I met victory.
They wanted it so much
Live in the world.
There are only faces left
In the yellow photos,
Reads memory
Their letters from the front.
Much grief
What measure
Year forty-five -
Year forty-one?
Alyoshenka
The mother has aged thirty years,
But there is no news from my son.
But she still keeps waiting
Because she believes, because she is a mother.
And what does she hope for?
Many years since the war ended,
Many years since everyone came back,
Except for the dead that lie in the ground.
How many of them are there in that distant village?
No boys without mustaches came...
Once they sent me to the village in the spring
Documentary film about the war.
Everyone came to the cinema: both old and young,
Who knew war and who did not.
Before the bitter memory of people
Hatred flowed like a river.
It was hard to remember...
Suddenly the son looked at his mother from the screen.
The mother recognized her son at that very moment,
And a mother’s cry rang out:
“Alexey, Alyoshenka, son!”
As if her son could hear her.
He rushed out of the trench into battle.
The mother stood up to cover him with herself,
I was always afraid that he might fall,
But through the years the son rushed forward.
"Alexei!" - the fellow countrymen shouted,
"Alexei!" - they asked, - “Run!”
...The frame changed. The son remained to live.
He asks the mother to repeat about her son.
And again he runs to the attack,
Alive and well, not wounded, not killed.
“Alexey, Alyoshenka, son,”
As if her son could hear her...
At home everything seemed like a movie to her,
I've been waiting for everything - now out the window
In the midst of alarming silence
Her son will come knocking from the war.
(A. Dementyev)
Soldiers remember the taste of war
Soldiers remember the taste of roads,
Swallowing soot, fumes and dust.
Tired boot tracks
Wars wrote evil stories.
Soldiers remember silence
And the commander's hoarse obscenities,
And the look that pierced the heights,
When the battalion commander fell into the snow.
Soldiers remember the taste of the earth,
She ground her teeth
She was tormented, torn, burned,
Pain and fear pressed into her.
She reared up
And she took the steel with her chest.
Trenches - mass coffins
And the ashes are a mourning shawl.
Soldiers remember the taste of war -
Salty, bitter frontline.
Those who survived were left with dreams,
The soldiers are taking them home.
The soldiers remember all the battles,
And at night they cry and scream.
They dream of THEIR dead,
They come and are silent.
Soldiers cry at night
In a dream, clutching a machine gun.
Their wives take them to doctors,
And they keep dreaming about their battalion commander.
(Yulich)
Glory to the veterans
How many years have passed since then,
How the earth burned under our feet,
Many are not war veterans,
But we remember them, they are with us.
And, leafing through albums in the family,
Suddenly someone accidentally notices
The war is lurking in the corner,
In a photo yellowed with time.
They look from the photographs with a smile,
Those who did not spare their lives,
In those distant fierce battles,
He defended the country from the Nazis.
Their glory will not fade in their hearts.
Memory strengthens over the years
The people will live for centuries,
The one who fought fiercely with his enemies.
(Bereginyushka)
Let people not forget this Day!
Four years of terrible trials...
Losses, victims, crippled destinies...
War... and thousands of human sufferings!..
NAMES OF HEROES - WE WILL NEVER FORGET!!!
Let the Fatherland count down the days of peace!
Let only PEACE and KINDNESS rule people!
Let there be a DAY OF VICTORY over fascism -
VICTORY OF PEACE on the Planet FOREVER!..
Let people not forget this Day!
May Memory sacredly preserve those names
Which brought VICTORY closer -
With their lives, crossing out the “war”...
Four years of terrible trials!..
PEACE TO THE FALLEN!.. – To those who left... To those who did not return home!..
BOW TO THE RAF WORKERS!.. – to those who have risen to replace them!..
To everyone who WON VICTORY - BOW TO THE EARTH!!!
(O. Klimchuk)
Veterans
There are few left of those who are in battle
We traveled halfway around the world to Berlin
–
In frost and blizzard, through grief and fear.
Let the living remember this.
So it was: suddenly the war came,
Unprecedented troubles have arrived.
And the country gave everything it could
For the front, for a glorious victory.
And every inch of our Russian land
We washed with blood and sweat.
But the enemies here could not break the truth,
They couldn't cope with the proud people.
But here comes the Reichstag, the fascist day has faded
And the Krauts shout: “Rus, we surrender!”
We will remember this war forever.
We swear... We swear... We swear!
We can never forget about this.
What could be better in the world,
Than a peaceful sky, in the city lights
And our beautiful children?
……………………………………
The soldier, remembering his journey to the end,
She will cry with stingy tears.
And the fallen are all alive in our hearts, –
They stand silently next to us.
St. George Ribbon
St. George Ribbon
–
and gunpowder and fire,
And the bitterness of tears, and the joy of victory.
Not just a proud symbol, but a silk shoulder strap,
For the good peace that our grandfathers brought to us.
St. George Ribbon –
like a surviving flower,
That I saw a childhood ruined by evil,
Burnt villages, ruins, deadly smog...
Not just a symbol
–
legacy of memory.
St. George Ribbon –
two-color simple stripes
–
There is blood and flame on the front roads,
And echelons of lives that have gone downhill...
And an evil-striped banner.
St. George Ribbon –
and gunpowder and fire
–
And the sorrow of the soul, and the sun of new life.
Two-color line pattern
–
history palm,
Fate ornament... Memorable word.
(N. Samonii
■
)
Why are birch trees speckled?
Why are birch trees speckled?
Those are wrinkles
The destinies of the crippled seal.
Why are birch trees speckled?
Trace of the twist:
The memory of grief cannot be assuaged by happiness.
Why are birch trees speckled?
These are tears.
After all, trees remember the pain of war.
Why are birch trees speckled?
Those are splinters
Those are fragments of broken silence.
Why are birch trees speckled?
That's gray hair
To all grieving wives and mothers.
Why are birch trees speckled?
There are reasons:
To remind of many deaths.
Why are birch trees speckled?
These are scars
As an earthly memory of the war:
Those carved by the Almighty
Cryptograms...
So that people value the world twice as much!
We praise our veterans
We praise our veterans
Worthy of honor and love!
Let the wounds ache less,
The nightingales sing longer,
Let their years flow brightly,
And they live well...
(I. Yavorovskaya)