By Yuliya Drunina
Where from
I could get forces
In the hour
So black, like coal?
If I were
Not Russian daughter
I would down
Hands, and long ago.
As I'd dropped my hands
In forty one.
Wilst remember you?
The protecting ditches
Nervous like
Snaked around Moscow.
Bury-notes, wounds
And sites of fire...
Memory,
Don't tear soul...
And
I couldn't recollect
The other
Times,
Which were so close
To the clear Love
To Motherland.
And this Love,
So sharp and pure
Stored,
Gave the people
Forces and secure
In the stormy fire
Of the war.
If my faith
To Russia were spent,
How could me
Russia
Trust ever then?
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In russian and other translation by Boris Gorodetsky:
http: //www.stihi.ru/2010/04/11/1726
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem