Zarema Dad Reads A Newspaper Rasul Gamzatov Poem by Yuri Starostin

Zarema Dad Reads A Newspaper Rasul Gamzatov



DAD READS A NEWSPAPER

I see: the moon floats
A mature melon over the mountains.
Who I am?
«One girl,
And call me Zarema».

Dad sat closer to the light,
Dad reading the newspaper.
He is all immersed in a thought,
Like the whole planet
Before him he saw.

The countries are different in the world,
There are and a bourgeois countries.

Dad moved stricter an eyebrows
And father's eyes look
On that land of a valleys and a mountains,
Where a people by the color of skin
Distinguish still nowaday.

I am small, but I know all the same,
Only a nonhumans may
To distinguished on the color of their skin
A people till nowadays.

I want that wrote for this
In the newspaper
That the children differ all people
On the good and bad.

No other differences.
And I want to say:
We used to distinguish
A good heart from evil.

Hail, good habit!
There is no a difference for us,
Who is a tatar girl, who is a kumykh girl,
Who is a jew, and who is an abkhazian.

Whether a japanese or a pole girl,
Whether indian or sweden girl,
I am just a girl, and only,
For me no a differences.

From that, who is full of anger,
A microbes of a black lie crawling,
And a lie is dangerous a scarlet fever
For us is not without reason.

An adults should
Surround a children of the country
By a most brightest, humane,
Noble and heart things.

Let, smiling in the windows,
Watch the sun from the morning.
And jumping on the left leg,
And jumping on the right leg,
The kids starts.

Let a dol met
The green shirt
And gives me an azure flower
In the term,
A white daisy,
A poppy red light.

And I want among the court,
In the meadow and on the river
To sing the songs of the native land
On the native language.

And let I will freeze,
As a saiga in a frosty day,
If I forget the flame
Of a family home.


I dream to fly dream too
To the Moon
(all children are similar) .
But let remember the Moon,
That our glorious country
Are more expensive and to me.

Early my voice flows from the window
In the morning at the dawn.
Who I am?
«One girl,
And my name is Zarema! »

1961

Monday, May 11, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: life
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success