Dmitrii Mikhal’tsev

THE LETTER

I am writing to you from a foreign land,
All the comrades are friends peacefully sleeping,
I long for you, sweet homeland,
I remember your lips and your tender glance in spring.

With green bandages the mountains cover their deep scars,
It’s a long, oh, such a long way home, but please not in vain.
The evil guerrillas begin to crawl along the hidden paths,
It means soon, very soon, a battle again.
Sand between my teeth again, salty sweat again tonight.
And again tracer fire will draw a black petal in descent,
And one more temple will grow white,
And one more boy will desert his regiment.

Soon I will be demobbed, just this summer to wait,
And then I will return home in time for New Year.
I touch wood so as not to tempt the desires of fate,
For in the morning we march on from here.

With green bandages the mountains cover their deep scars,
It’s a long, oh, such a long way home, but please not in vain.
The evil guerrillas begin to crawl along the hidden paths,
It means soon, very soon, a battle again.
Sand between my teeth again, salty sweat again tonight.
And again tracer fire will draw a black petal in descent,
And one more temple will grow white,
And one more boy will desert his regiment.

Write to me about the mist that creeps over the stream,
How the long grass in waves undulates in the homeland,
Write how… everybody write for I can’t believe it’s not a dream,
That sometime I shall return home again, on my earth to stand…

©Copyright by Dmitrii Mikhal’tsev
(Corrected and edited by Tomas Duerden)