The Memoirs Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

The memoirs

The memoirs are stored in memory of people,
One thougt, the other one - on the screen of mind,
The third thought - and then you are walking there
Along the streets, that wasn't changed in part.

As long ago - the people, houses, birds
Are just the same, without any changing...
And world of memory doesn't have the boards,
As in the youth, when limits were fully absent.

But border is between the old and now,
The limits became closer and closer...
As the continuous fence, high, solid,
They gather, narrow you round.

Only the world of memoirs is just the same:
As bright, as in the previous times.
And every moment of past had its sweet case,
The chance was lasting like eternal path.

We are eternal. Every moment we can
To drag out our consciousness to the past.
We were there, surely. But after that
The common life becomes such tiresome.

So catch: the moments of struggles,
Of fightings in the gone-by centuries...
And on the walls the strange such images...
Where are they? Nobody could answer...
But sun is bright there, as if it's here...

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In russian:
http: //www.stihi.ru/2012/03/18/1972