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The poems of poets,which have passed the Second World War

09.05.2016 792

The poems of poets,which have passed the Second World War

Tahir Zharokov

MESSAGE TO FRIENDS

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After the handle with the pen for the first time

It holds a rifle arm.

To You, my friends, the rear,

I am instructing the verses while.

Here my paper - the battlefield,

This is not the feathers and glitter of bayonets.

There are forged new rhythms,

Do not pour the ink but blood.

I told you was fellow writers -

Holy I will do my duty.

Dedicate poems to soldiers -

That is my fighting mandate to you .

To you,  Askar and Sabit with Gabit,

I draw words of the letter:

Thank you for those who have returned from battle,

Prepare a volume of poetry.

Do not be angry with this word -

Hurry, time is running out!

The battle is over, and severe

You soldiers were score.

After the handle with the pen for the first time

It holds a rifle arm.

On the fight verses fighting

I will write the tip of the bayonet!

 

BOW TO KAZAKHSTAN

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Where's your ridge, Alatau ?

Undead slopes under his sun ,

Where murmuring, silver, streams

Under cover of the eternal ice -

From the people, leading the fighting,

I arrived here with a bow.

From the field, which are used to shooting,

And the walls have suffered damage,

And from his brothers, that the death struggle.

As a reliable barrier rose,

I have brought you, mountains, bow!

Oil, tearing the clouds,

Untiring my fellow countrymen,

Pouring bullets to help the country,

Bow told me.

From the beautiful Volga River,

Whose free forever shore

Whose revenge rustling reeds

Over the bloody trail of the enemy,

I brought you bow countrymen.

From the children from their mothers,

What a lot of tears shed,

From VOLGAR(Tatars from Volga river) who returned their home -

 I had brought a Stalingrad bow.

From the blood-soaked layers

And from the plowed fields, ready to spring,

From Banish beasts cities

Bow told me.

Terrible front and deep rear -

We are a military family.

Where the trench from the fire we hid,

Where is our pilot soared over the line -

You out my bow, my friends.

Who keeps fine-wool sheep,

Who gives us the grain, and the lead,

Masters threshing and casting,

Your messenger, warrior, singer,

Do you like your guest, I bow!


 

RETURN

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Accommadated in the train wagon,

The locomotive gave a whistle.

At that moment I realized:

It will be our way far off.

Was I in the form of a soldier

Among the same friends.

The son yelled to me from the platform:

"Come back soon!"

A native Alatau

As my great-grandfather gray-haired,

I nodded majestically

Snow head.

Swim, I remember,

Above the mountain clouds,

You waved a handkerchief to me:

"Good-bye ... bye!"

On the ground we walked.

We lay in the snow,

Air combat inhaled,

We went to meet the enemy.

Strength, power giants

We have gained in the fighting,

On the ruins of Berlin

They hoisted their flag.

We victory and glory

Returning home,

Bogatyr Alatau

I nodded.

And with a smile, quickly

I ran up my son,

And in the eyes of his black

Light flashed ...

Above fun kibitka,

As on a pipe - smoke.

Social mare after the battle,

Smiling family.

 

 

Kalizhan Bekhozhin

 

Twenty eight

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... And this night, and this forest

covered with snow by blizzard .

Soldiers walking through a blizzard,

No star is not visible, nor moon.

Around snow ... some snow! ..

In the face of the biting wind hit,

But twenty-eight

On the chest in the snow going forward.

There is no other way they have,

Go ahead it in the snow,

To become a Russian blizzard

Burial shroud of the enemy,

That with a bullet in the heart fell dead

Motherland our predatory enemy.

And twenty-eight lay

On the outskirts of Moscow, in the snow.

And suddenly I woke up the dark forest,

And moaned and roared,

And showered with snow peaks,

Diamond is pure and soft white.

Here miserably collapsed pine,

Behind it - the second - and gone!

Humpback tank German crawled,

Swaying heavily.

Trees fell down before him,

Already it is burning all around.

The snow melted, sagged, hissing,

Was in full swing, caught fire ...

Wild beasts rushing to Moscow,

Blowing snow osatanev.

But we stood in his way

Guardsmen courage and anger.

Fighters have vowed before the fight:

- Mother Motherland, while we,

While heart pounding in his chest,

By the capital tanks shall not pass!

Strong armor. but there is a heart,

With tight tank armor,

And twenty-eight to go to fight,

Heroes of October akin

Riddled body of lead,

In the blood of his greatcoat, but they

Do not retreat - their courage

Heroes of our country is like.

The surrounding forests are buzzing,

Buran sped away, the wall,

Snow expanse losing

Buran steel and fire.

A twenty-eight brave men,

Snow and put the blood, lie

Wounded, almost exhausted,

And the bags are no more grenades.

 

2

 
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Motionless "tigers". silence

From the towers blows armor.

So was the Russian snowstorm

Burial shroud for them.

On the horizon, in the blue,

In spite of everything alive,

As the truth of our celebration,

Should Moscow Kremlin.

Around snow, snow, snow ...

Fields nemerenno expanse.

And twenty-eight in the snow,

And every heart hero.

All the children of one mother,

They were not going back.

Pal Ukrainian fell Kazakh,

Pal with them Russian brother.

Mixed blood mortal wounds.

Embrace the dead are not to separate.

Kisses in the clear eyes

His sons homeland-mother.

You conquered death with death!

No wonder your blood gushed out.

All twenty-eight - you are always

Immortal will be for us.

Be brothers, you easily

Native Russian land!

... Spinning white blizzard,

Fade snowfields.

There, in front, hidden enemy

In the face of the biting wind hit,

Advertise fame expanding,

Division is moving forward.

 
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Let the country remember their  proudly names !

I the trenches were:

 Klotchkov Vasily Grigoryevich

 Dobrobabin Ivan Evstafievich

 Shepetkov Ivan Alexeyevich

 Kryuchkov Abram Ivanovich

 Mitin Gavriil Stepanovich

 Kosayev Alikbay (Almembay)

 Petrenko Grigory Alexeyevich 

 Esebulatov Nursutbay (Nursultan )

 Kalenik (Kaleynikov) Dmitry Mitrofanovich

 Natarov Ivan Moiseevich

 Gregory Shemyakin Melentyevich

 Dutov Peter Danilovich

 Mitchenko Nikita Andreyevich

 Shopokov Duishenkul

 Konkin Grigoriy Efimovich

 Shadrin Ivan Demidovich

 Moskalenko Ivan Vasilyevich

 Yemtsov Peter Kuzmich

 Kozhubergenov Daniil Alexandrovich

 Dmitry Timofeev Fomich

 Trofimov Nikolai Ignatievich

 Bondarenko Yakov Alexandrovich

 Vasiliev Hilary Romanovich

 Belashev Nikolai Nikonorovich

 Bezrodnykh Gregory Mikheevich

 Sengirbaev Musabek

 Nikolai Maksimov Gordeevich

 Nikolay Ananiev Yakovlevich


TO SISTER

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... Now that battle is far,

When on the verge of death

End dagger bayonet

He hit a German in my chest.

And I fell to - one in the chain.

Friends, firing on the run,

Gone ahead, and I'm in the steppe

Stay left on the snow.

Through the pain, I was drawn to your life?

- Come help as quickly as possible,

Relatives, peers, friends!

But near - only steppe and night.

In polubespamyatstve in a dream

He raced battle party

I swallowed the bloody snow,

And death sat over me.

What happened next - forgotten.

What was I thinking? The breathing?

It's all over. Without feeling exhausted.

In the steppe under the snow, I was lying.

I was dead when I

They found and revived again.

Heart beat, and, ringing,

In his veins ran the blood.

It came to me as a reality through the nonsense,

Sister, beautiful and bright.

Though angels are all gone,

But she was an angel.

She said: - Well, now look,

Do not die, since managed to survive,

Shut up and do not thank

I for accomplishment.

And I was silent. I was speechless.

I crawled out of tears, trembling eyes,

Again, where a fight thundered,

Gone is the sister of the dugout.

From death has saved me,

You have become more than a home.

But who are you, who? among fire

Your cute lost track of me.




Hamit Ergaliev

 

From behind the clouds

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On the shoulders of snow Director

And hat - a snowdrift.

Steel snowy wings century

And cowlick that fell over his forehead.

Where a beast winds through the hills,

Where flowed into the solitude of the century,

Agronomist and Director there

On the sliding skis are gone.

Before them steppe sweep,

And still the wind is cruel,

But, like a flame in human hands

Now blaze box.

And breaking snowstorm steppe,

Completing a difficult flight,

Because of the clouds to meet the checkbox

Lowered helicopter.

Night hike

Yet it was the first bird,

Star cold sky,

But in the space without borders

White winter road leads us

Here, in a sheepskin coat every horseman;

The girls coats and scarves.

Grozny tractor operation rattles

Saiga suggests fear.

Echoes echoes us -

Do not shiver from the cold ground.

We went on a night steppe

And the dawn brought with them.

So forward, fast running, -

We met flags distance.

Nice here to you,

 human,

And you,

 thundering steel.


 

Dzhigit's thoughts

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There is no germination, no vernal days

But the heat in our soul,

After all, girls and boys family

Here lives a week already.

Another hidden deep

Hidden secrets here.

Each of the newcomers polite:

All on the "you" to each other's name.

Hey, girls!

In the steppe wilderness

We warmed your beauty.

We say: All is well here,

As you look - blinding.

But sigh alone,

I know that there is one among all.

And, perhaps, I

Smiling as she.

Her eyes sparked me.

And I live my love.

Immediately becomes warm, warm,

Just start thinking about it.


 

The cold wind

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That April sun disk

It rises out of the ground.

Wind, groping, flies down

And the noise, lost in the distance.

All in the spring of fresh dew,

Furrow uneven firmament,

As if a sweaty horse CTZ

At the steppes in a hurry to thunder.

Beating the flame in his chest

Around ten go with him.

Just behind bars

In the hills lie steppe.

Vaughn tractor Kuandik,

And behind him Sulu, Nur-trailer.

Well, that is akin to them

The generality of the glorious deeds and fates.

Mila sends a kiss horseman,

Rdeet woman, like a flower,

And in response Kuan threatens

The dark girl's fist.

Wherever you meet only you,

Joke combat youth?

What are they blowing from the heights

Wind, fumbling and crude!

 

 

Mazhit Aitbaev

 
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Falling asleep, I saw an apple in a dream,

Catcher, the steepness on the macabre.

Not with apple, alas, it is hung,

A torn from the branches of a dream to me.

 
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I had a dream and in the dream his

I saw an apple, but it is a pity, in the edge of another's.

Withered, pined utterly,

It will cause confusion in any.

 
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But white-red with its two sides,

Why would she bases this duality?

The presence of these incompatible paints

I was encouraged to meditation again.

 
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We took a blood red color side,

A white side, like the morning dawn.

What does this combination,

Calling in thought much nonsense?

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When a child too is not free you,

How to pay for the coming dreams?

How shall think of a better share in the life,

When all the rivers empty to you?

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And if an owl hoots from the graves,

My last effort he denies.

But if the nightingale in the woods will fill,

He revived me again to life.

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When the whole earth would have bloomed in colors,

Sky bathed in sunlight,

Whenever I was treated kindly by the Motherland,

Why should I be sad endless darkness?

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I had a dream where the apple - the hill,

As a white-red silent com.

Waking up this morning I saw myself ...

What is the meaning of a dream? What is he, of whom il?

 

                   ***

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Oh, my Altai, on behalf of the steeps up

You are all beautiful, unshakeable and mighty!

Loved of heaven, you gave birth to the people

In daring to soar to the clouds!

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         Togolese people inspired son,

         One of the many, the victim of evil Godin,

         In the West, living as fasting,

         A foreign country or a son or a citizen.

 

When wailing whether my cry is heard?

if he comes to your steeps and thickets?

Or like a swan that cries in the desert

I met a young the hour of death?

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         Like mirages, which are not weaker,

         Return whether gusts young days?

         Or in fact, time has come to say goodbye

With burning my soul Mlada?

 

Oh, my Altai native land crown,

I remember your meadows in bloom!

Powerless now it is all to see

I grieve and cry away from you ...

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                   As the float, driven by a storm of evil,

                   I have long been parted from their native land.

                   Now, not long hours, when it is necessary

                   To leave me with life itself.

 
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And at this hour, when I was naked, and sire,

I leave this mortal world in mourning

Altai Ridges let me caress,

Embracing the full expanse of the parent.

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                   And let my grave will be there,

                   Closer to the sun, the wind, the clouds.

                   And let the flowers foot of the Altai

                   Bow honored me in the evenings.

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