Дмитро Володимирович. Момотюк

Put a candle for me, mother Put a candle for me, mother… I will not return home, I will not drink tea with you, I will not hug your palms, You do not long for me, mother Even though I am dead in body – still alive in spirit. I had to be there, beloved, Standing on the front line. I wasn't alone There were friends, colleagues and my brothers. We fought not for merit But for the achievement of the goal. The goal - she was plain A cloudless sky and birdsong. But the gentle smell of St. John's wort blossoms, And a free sunrise from cursed enemies. But in an instant the dark sky turned black And a resounding cry was heard from everywhere, The ground under our feet was shaking, And fear to die simply disappeared. We will not return, we will not stand on our feet. But we believe that the time will come, When our sons, stopping at the edge of the road, Remember with their hearts the brave deeds. Light a candle for me, dear mother. No cry, even though you turned gray in a moment, For you, dear, I prayed the same way, For you, dear, and my heart aches. In your thoughts you hold me and wait But I have already gone to a better life… Live! Because you are still suffering here, But I have no desire either. I will return, I will look in your window, A tear will appear in my eye, Or maybe I will melt like a snowflake, And my heart will no longer be consumed by sorrow