Our village is dying
Everyone has gone where
Sad heart stops
When I look at houses
abandoned, mute reproach
without blaming, not guilty
They are waiting for their owners.
They have their own history
And there was a golden time
Flowers bloomed in all yards
And on the painted balconies
The children played noisily
There were a lot of young people here.
And summer residents have always been
The day passed for everyone at work
And the evening - in the dance by the fire
Flying through the night
And obsessed with youth
We all, somehow dressed up,
One - one life lived
Everything has changed so much
Other times have come
Now the strangers are coming
And cut our forest on the spot
Only old ladies left
Tired of waiting for someone
And they did not know poverty
No one drove them from here
Raw, dark huts
The country opened the door to them
With unkempt yards
In which everyone became slaves
At the crossroads of two roads
I stand alone in confusion
Dress in bright silks
Hanging necklaces around the neck
Why did my people leave
Forgot about your houses
And in what did he find his salvation
Leaving them without regret
But in this paradise
Washed in snow and rain
We believe - someone will come
And will live again for centuries
Evgenia Davydovna Sevastova (Spitari)
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