Баллада о мечтах - пер. М. Анчарова

The ballad about dreams
by Mikhail Ancharov

In german far and distant land
The great battle is over.
And over the burnt fields that
A soldier is going.
The smelly heat presses him
As a great heavy log.
The earth got tired. It has need
To have a rest for long.
And so on the river bank
And on the edge of earth
The soldier for rest has sat,
Hided the spider's flocks.
The last mile had come to end,
There'll be another way,
But soldier's tired dream that day
Wished to have on rest.

And he had seen, as if in dream,
Such a marvellous bliss,
That those, who served not in a grind
Would never ever seen.
He's at the gates. He's here, now.
It's time to enter house.
All boys from courtyard will run fast
To meet him at that hour.

All friends are crying to him:"Hey!"
And rise their hands to greet.
They look on the dusty pistol, and
They look at orders gilded.
Then he will kiss with passion great
His wife, his father, mother.
He will be resting one day then,
And will sleep three days farther.

Then - he will clean the fields away
From garbage of the war.
The fields, all filled with dust of cabs,
Ought to forget it all.
He will force sun to shine in skies
The whole year round,
And ice will melt from deeds that time
On the old strips of ground.

Forever ended we the war-
And this will be in time,-
And soldier will plough earth
Cris-crossing up and down.
And he will recollect one day
His dream at the river alien,
And how he had a success
To pass three wars, incredibly.