Читать книгу And So I Write My Life - Юлия Н. Шувалова - Страница 5

A stone-throw away from where I live

There is a field a strange rarely visits.

The trenches and landmines disfigured it,

And tender scarlet flowers grow in it.

I’ve long stopped counting how rapidly the field

Expands across the ages and the limits.

Old flowers never die; and life continues:

New flower throbs with fresh red blood in it.

Were you a man or woman? Young or old?

What nation? Season? How? Who? For what?

What you believed? Who loved you? I don’t know.

Had you killed anyone before they took your breath?

They say: one death refutes another death.

And so I stand and watch the poppies grow.