The letter to mother

‘And we have grown, mum...’

R. Fayzullin.

‘The fear is not pleasant to me.’

S. Esenin.


What should I write you, mum, and what should I send?

Ink and pen - everything I have.

70 cents - the line of my letter

I’ll send as a verse in the letter.


I am not offended on you of

Not telling me about Uitmen and Lorka.

Sometimes I asked: ‘Mum, why

The sky converges with the ground on the other side of Zay?’

Even if you didn’t know Shishkin,

You could understand the beauty.

How do you feel, mum? Doesn’t your back hurt?

There are 6 working days we’ve got.


In the last letter I have told lies,

That the city is beautiful and we’ve got a good life.

Your boy, who was grown eating crutch,

Sadly eats a banana.

And banana has a taste of pumpkin.

There were many pumpkins in our edge.

When you will go for a pumpkin for rams,

Do not fall down to a cellar.

Telling about rams... How are the meadows there?

Is the shepherd the same Gimadi?

And now we are like a herd without a shepherd for the ground.


Not to the grounds you see we leave, to the country.

But we are crying all the way.

The well,

Which is the most important thing for you, carried me out.

All your philosophy is in that well.

You tell that we are eternal like that well.

And in front of my eyes stands your face.

It is sad, with the tears on the eyes.


And a column, that is behind the window,

Similar to siren, is it all the same?

Beams of your eyes through the window

Merge with the beams of the sun.


Let’s go, we should go already, we should desire.

In this time nobody chased us.

Everywhere we were protected by the moon,

Wolves howled us it each of the wood.

The roads were happy seeing us leaving

And our legs were tired of long wanderings.

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