I couldnít bear my first term in the camp, So they will add a year or two (Donít argue with them! Please write me, dear fellows, if you can: "How goes it there in the world of freedom?" What do you drink? We donít drink anything, All we have got is snow in sunny weather. Please write to me about everything, Itís boring here, and I need your letter. I miss you all, and itís been years on end, Iíd like to see your dear smiling faces, How is my sweetheart? Has she got a friend? No? Tell her she must write me a few phrases. It is as dreadful as the Trial of Ordeal. Your letter is a thread which mustnít fail us. They will not forward it to me, I feel, But write me anyway, my dear fellows.
© Alec Vagapov. Translation, 1999