Alexander Mogilnikov, the younger brother of my grandmother.
Shura called a boy, not Sasha
No memories, no pieces of paper –
there is nothing.
Nothing that can be increased
to serious the forehead
with what to go through the streets of the capital,
Shurka – snitch, mother of the song sang
have fun with you.
Looked around: Shurka – a handful of ashes
in hell near Moscow.
How he rode the train from Amur
across the Union …
He is an eagle from birth, a boy of Shura,
nevermind a coward
he would have completely reached Berlin –
adult, proud, angry …
But the war pretended to be short –
only the first fight.
… I go to the "Magnet" closer to the night
through the whole area,
and sings about a little blue handkerchief
Tomorrow is a holiday, tanks and trams,
striped bow …
Develops a theme in the store
Shurka, you would survive, suppose –
would love jazz?
Shura, are you and I even alike?
Maybe – eye color?
You know, I have a son, your namesake,
raves about the war.
Would you come to him, or something, hard
in a bad dream!
… And the caps – in piles at the checkout,
stars are burning.
I take coconut oil
May 8, 2018
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