M.Isakovsky, The Enemies Had Burned... - Song - Translation (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

By Mikhail Isakovsky

The enemies had burned his house
And perished all his family...
What way for soldier is fated now,
Where could he carry all his grief?

And he went far in all his woe
At cross of two wide roads then,
He found there in the open
One hill under the grass velvet.

He stood by, and as if the ground
Got stiffened in his throat all.
He said at last: 'Praskovya, hellow!
Meet now your husband-hero!

And, please, prepare for your guest now
Any a food and lay on table...
I'm ready to enjoy the day-come,
To celebrate return from battle...'

But no one has answered, though,
No one has met him in the field.
Only the wind was waving, rocking
The grave grass, being so green.

He sighed at last, adjusted his belt,
And opened his road-sack,
And put a bottle of the beverage
On the grey stone of that grave.

'Don't scold, Praskovya, me for that drink,
You see, I was ready to feast
For our health and for our meeting,
But now it's time to drink for rest...

Again will boys and girls meet friendly,
But never we shall meet again...'
So drank a wine with half a grieving
From a copper cup that soldier.

He drank a wine, the slave of people,
And told with pain in all his heart:
'I went to you through four-year's interval,
I conquered three states in the march...'

And he turned drunken, dropped his tears,
The tears of the hopes failed...
And on his breast the medal's greaming -
A recompence for Busdapesht...

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In russian and translation to bulgarian
by Krasimir Georgiev
http: //www.stihi.ru/2013/04/12/41