My grandson grows up and I'll tell him
I'd lived in the country full of dream.
It carried out the Soviet Union's name,
Ruined by renegades without a shame.
Of those times run down as such
Reminds me the Communist Party member-card,
That in my table I keep untouched -
The rudiment of the epoch left in my blood.
I'll tell him of the Communist party rule.
The one to which I'd been affiliated.
And I'll add: "I'm no longer a fool
To dress in any party's attire".
But I'm sorry for my Russia humiliated
And wish the traitors set to fire.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem