As this daemon of this poem says, Mozgovoy's fate was a life of a soldier and fighter, but his life was also a bridge--from one Russia (a Russia of new dead souls) to Novorossiya, a Russia New and Arisen. Russian reborn. Mozgovoy's own personal and physical life is now over. This personal life has become ashes in the steppes of Cossacks' Don. Spiritually, Mozgovoy has, however, become a fire of Novorossiya--the light that illuminates the road ahead.
Burning
bridges
When
the bridges are burned,
The
watercourse stays and separates
The
two disjointed shores.
Only
the wind is moaning a complaint,
Still
we are trying to find a ford
In
the streams of time bygone.
But
one cannot enter any river twice,
And
there is so much of what divides.
Fate’s
bridges do thus burn,
And
its fire clouds, fogs, conceals,
Thus
our mistakes with long tails
Come
out of lie and deceit.
But
if you want to undo all,
There
is nothing to find or see.
For
you cannot even perceive
Fate
which now a different life lives.
The
river grows deeper, there’s no ford,
Only
the ashes that were a bridge.
And
so many years will pass and go
In
the light cast by those bridges behind.
Горят
мосты...
Мозговой
Алексей Борисович
Когда
мосты все сожжены
А
берегов крутые склоны,
Потоком
вод разделены.
И
слышно только ветра стоны...
Пытаемся
мы брод найти,
В
потоке времени ушедшем.
Но
дважды в реку не войти...
Да
и преград не стало меньше.
В
огне горят судьбы мосты,
Река
в дыму словно в тумане.
Ошибок
тянутся хвосты,
Рождённые
во лжи, в обмане.
Захочешь
всё назад вернуть,
По
берегу пройдёшь в пустую.
Не
сможешь даже заглянуть,
В
судьбу теперь уже чужую.
Река
всё глубже, брода нет.
Лишь
пепел пылью под ногами.
Пройдёт
не мало долгих лет,
Но
всё горят, мосты за нами...
No comments:
Post a Comment