The Lullaby For Unfortunate Love Poem by Zamir Osorov

For my love,
my dear and precious,
you must grow and grow
years 150 or 200.
Belive me in that historical truth
you find the root
of our mischief and backfire,
not in the light difference
racial, cultural or others
between us
or in the fact that I little older
then you.
But you do not ever understand it,
and sertanly I do not suppress my deep lament.

All my efforts and exertions mean nothing at all,
for blue eyes of that pretty doll,

I could only to wish you close your eyes
if you so afraid to live,
sleep well and awake
in the next century,
where you find not at all
your retrograde parents,
prejudice
and others censures.