Mom has died.
We did not see each other for some years.
But I always knew - she lives in Nizhni Novgorod,
In a small apartment of a five-floor house,
On a high hill above the big river.
I often phoned her.
I knew - the good woman helps m?m,
Looks after her, like one would a child,
Sometimes they drink tea together , watch TV,
And, probably, they talk about me.
We had no possibility to meet.
But both of us hoped -
Soon my legs will better,
And I shall come.
But one month ago,
In the solar July morning,
I have learned - Mom has died.
Mom is not present more.
I never shall visit to her.
I never shall argue with her,
And I never will hug her.
A very dear string of my soul has been torn.
My favourite rain has dried up somewhere.
The star of tenderness, of understanding and hope has died out.
But a new star has flashed -
It is the brightest of all stars - MY LOVE OF MOM.
... The summer is continues.
August gives warm rains, flowers and fruits.
This August is the first for me - without Mom.
Mom has died.
And now I love her so,
As never in life.
Above a pulsating arrow of two great Russian rivers,
there, where Oka merges to Volga
and already flows farther downstream,
to the Caspian sea,
an ancient, wise Kremlin stands – like a soldier
on high coast of the big ancient city of the Russia, Nizhni Novgorod.
Kremlin looks very attentively at boundless meadows
and at cultivated fields and forests,
the small villages and big cities
of the Nizhniy Novgorod territory.
The white ships float past,
They salute the old soldier and ask its blessing.
Birches and mountain ashes, wild cherries and apples
in springtime decorate this coast with fresh greenery and flowers,
In the autumn – with gold of leaves and with red fruits.
The ancient Kremlin looks far and never sleeps.
It observes all around and welcomes the ships,
recollects the events, the dates, people.
Maybe, sometime Kremlin will recollect me also,
Because I was born in ancient Nizhniy Novgorod,
on the high coast of these two great Russian rivers.
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