All this war to the chock-full I would dream of my mother, And although I was fuming, I was fighting with skill. But my friend, he was hurrying, he forgot to take cover, Through the war back and forth did he hover; In two years it was virtually nil! Since the forty-third summer his pulse havenít been heard. I myself dived in slumber of the peaceful time world. Every breath comes with effort; I stare like a drunk. He was kind, he was better, much better... I myself had dumb luck. I did not ask for favors, nor was favored by Fortune, I did not seek reserves to be as snug as a bug; But the womenís eyes always reprimand me while watching: And if only youíd stayed there forever, Then perhaps my man would have come back. There is nothing so cryptic in their silent reprise; I myself feel so twisted that their dreams were capsized. I came up with responding: "Please forgive that Iím live! By pure chance Iím returning, returning, But he failed to survive." He was burning in flames but his voice came back pulsing: ďYou must live! You will make it!Ē - over hum I have heard. We were flying up high, next to the Abrahamís bosom; He ascended and thatís where he landed, I myself made it back to the earth. The reception on heavens was a cold-hearted one. Forced to land on the belly, he would grovel to none; He dozed off - not till morning, and his song was cut short. Iíve survived, Iím returning, returning... He will not come along. I will always feel guilty before those who had fallen, Before those whom today I would be honored to meet. And although we survived till the last day of combat, We are burned by our past, by our morals - Only those, who kept their conscience clean. Someone frugal and pedant is in charge of our clocks: Pilotsí lives run too short just like this landing field blocks. And from this runway pilots took off once and for all. I myself had returned for the landing... Thatís my grief and my toll.
© ?. Translation, 2019