Автор перевода пожелал остаться неизвестным. Перевод осуществлен при участии Irene Zugasti Hervás
Among our wild fields
Among our wild fields, there are blooming feather and poppy,
Full of snaking tank-cuts, like black ribbons,
And the soldier grows into the new exist,
Now he is a hero. Postmortem.
Among our wild fields, there are saltbush and wormwood,
Mad heads, mad winds.
We’ll put the crosses around the burial hills,
And compose new legends.
Among our wild fields, that are grey of the ashes,
The stems of the everlasting flowers became black,
Here we will die with our enemies,
But in our steppe*, on our Donbass’s ground.
Among our wild fields, there are blooming feather and poppy,
Full of snaking tank-cuts, like black ribbons,
And we will lay down our lives, all as one,
For the rising of our Victory flag!
*steppe — is a type of wide, wild fields, mostly covered with different types of herbs and small bushes. Читать полностью