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Ya Yeshchyo Ne Ponimayu
Acres of crosses; acres barren except for fruit of blood.
Climes of tundra, meadows of green, waves of elephant grass too;
"Imagine no religion....to live or die for", hopeless, John died.
P'yu za menya, Dyadya, P'yu: "...Vyed', ne darom...", pyes'nyu,
as our beautiful Krasivaya Red Army goes across the field.
Some of theirs "gave all";
some boys won't ever come home;
"Ya eshchyo ne ponimayu..."
The stones will weather and will fade, and so, our names;
and our memories are only as fresh as our last kisses;
our memorials are living flesh, children at home, foreign bastards.
We cannot come home, but devochkoj bodies hold our wishes.
And live, brave, invisible armies still prance in the killing-fields.
Some are "home", but will never really "be home". Please pray for us, and those we waken by our frights in our nights.
"Skazhika, Dyadya, pochemu."
Zdes' voprosa net, a tvoyu:
"Ya nikogda ne ponimayu!~~~"
Is there, Uncle, a reason!
There is not a question here:
just help me to understand!~~~
Ya Eshcho Ne Ponimayu!!!
I still Do Not Understand!!!
Teddy, my friend, your poems such as this, always slip through the erected barricades and yank hard at the heart strings, opening up that throbbing center, to the painful emotions the mind tries to guard against.
Should I thank you for that? Perhaps, but I certainly do thank you for the super poem.
Well done.
Mir
Fleur