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Zarevich
Giovedì, 25 Marzo 2021, 12:09

ĢIL RIGOGOLOģ
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From to-mA "Live till Monday" 

In this grove of birch, 
Far from suffering and misery, 
Where ranges rose 
Unblinking light of the morning 
Where a transparent avalanche 
Pour the leaves from the high branches of trees, -
Sing to me, the Oriole, the song of the desert, 
The song of my life. 

But in the lives of the soldiers we, 
And already at the limits of the mind 
Shake the atoms, 
Vortex stirring up clouds of white house. 
As crazy mill 
Waving of wings around war. 
Where are you, Oriole, forest recluse? 
What are you silent, my friend? 

Surrounded by explosions, 
Over the river, where the blackened reeds, 
You fly over the cliffs, 
Over the ruins of death flying. 
Silent wanderer, 
You accompany me to battle, 
And deadly cloud stretches 
Over your head. 

The great rivers 
The sun comes up, and in a morning mist 
With scorched eyelids 
I fall down, dead, to the ground. 
Mad shouted Raven, 
Trembling, silent gun. 
And then my heart broken 
Your voice will sing.