Soldier

I see an ordinary guy
On television
Neither too handsome, nor too bright -
Haircut and muscles.

He has two legs and two strong arms,
As everybody,
But no both palms, just cuts instead
With ugly "fingers".

He's able to keep a cigarette
Or open door,
To catch his meal with handy knife,
Or take newspaper.

He's peaceful, strong, and self-sustain'd
He's speaking stately;
He smokes and slowly explains
How it all happen'd.

"I had a passion for the game,
I was goalkeeper,
Could catch, well, almost every ball:
Good hands, by nature.

There was conscription, I was called,
Became a private.
First, in battalion for recruits,
Then usual service.

One day, we gathered for lunch,
And they attacked!
I see: it's flying right to us,
Towards the crowd.

Oh dear, it would kill the guys -
I had no option,
No time to think, I should be fast
To save the people.

I caught granade and brought it down,
And cover'd tightly
It blown up under my hands -
This is the story."

He smiles and smokes his sigarette
And keeps it firmly.
In place of fingers (should be five) -
Stumps, amputated.

He shows no sadness or regret,
He seems quite happy;
He comes to van: he still can drive,
With special handles.

The car was given by the friends,
His army comrades,
To keep his spirit fresh and brave -
And source of income.

He starts the engine and departs...
And sky's the brightest,
Because there is a simple guy -
The Russian Hero.