To My Babushka

The lake is still and dull
Under the blue-gray sky,
The field stretched out before it
A wilted green.

Brown leaves still fill the lulls
In the grass, by the trees,
And by the roadside, the willow
Veils all the machines.

And I sit by the window
In the old library
Thinking of a brighter day,
So far away . . .

I walk through summer heat
On old wet asphalt ways
Between five story apartments
Built in Soviet days.

With little playgrounds between them
Where I wanted to play
Together with my brothers
In our countless fantasies.

It was the last year of my childhood –
I still remember,
The brown shoes I wore
That soon bore me to college.

I still remember,
The smooth stone-gray stairs
That climbed up to the apartment
Where you live.

I still remember,
The narrow rooms,
Filled with memories
I'd never know.

I still remember,
So little, I barely understood,
But I wanted too.
. . .

The night comes here
So early still, I fear.
The windows turn a deep
Dark blue

And hide away my thoughts
Beneath the creeping weeds of time,
In an unmarked grave,
Yet I know the name.

Thanks to you,
The life so long you fought for,
That we may live,
That we may see,
Where we came from –

Lives on.

–浪漫ロマン (RDreher)