This File Last Updated:2001/09/23


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"Nie maci ǔ instytut pravodziła mianie. . . ."

    Volha Ipatava

    Nie maci ǔ instytut pravodziła mianie,
    Zrabiǔšysia ad ščaścia maładoj.
    Uzrušana ǔ toj viečar zaźvinieǔ
    Kala vahona ǔvieś dziciačy dom.

    Ravieśniki. . .
        Skroź viosienskaje škło,
    Jak praz sady, hladžu na ich z akna:
    Nie vierycca, sto matčyna ciapło
    Z dziacinstva adabrała ǔ nás vajna.

    Nie znajem my, kala jakich biaroz
    U horkim dymie hinuli baćki.
    Ale naviek adzin źviazaǔ nas los,
    Jak nitkaju hrybnoj baraviki.

    Nie maci ǔ instytut pravodziła mianie. . .

"It was not Mother who waved me goodbye. . . ."

    by Volha Ipatava

    It was not Mother who waved me goodbye
    To college, young again with happiness.
    Ringing with excitement they all pressed
    About the carriage, the whole orphanage.

    All of my year . . .
        out through the autumn glass
    I see them as if through ranked trees I gaze:
    One can't believe that war robbed our whole class
    Of mother's warmth, in early childhood days.

    We do not know under what birch-trees' shade
    In bitter smoke our parents ceased to be.
    But like dried mushrooms strung upon one thread,
    One fate binds us for all eternity.

    It was not Mother who waved me goodbye . . .






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