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.