“Let’s Dance Hero-City” by Zura Itsmeolord
Invite me to dance, dear
Look into my eyes.
But … I see you noticed my premature gray hair, which knocked out from under a silk handkerchief.
Do not look at me like that. I’ve been shot heels. And my gait is not as confident as in the days of my youth, when I ran across the wet pavement to meet the new day.
I do not know how to laugh as loudly as before. Remember how I was catching snowflakes Waltzing widely outstretched long fingers?
Sorry, that half-close lids slightly faded from the melancholy eyes. Do you remember their sky blue, and I came to you with a gray, like rock.
Come dance with you.
I want to declare a white dance.
The first step, and we return to the distant past close.
Oh, those fountain water drops !
Do you remember the taste of water from the fountain, on the waterfront Sunja, opposite the Hotel “Chaika”?
Do you remember how I managed to cross the new bridge, when the mischievous cloud overstrained and poured rain all over my back?
And those tame squirrels that lived in the city center?
Do you remember the intoxicating smell of roses, which stood above the square?
A Blossoming lilacs along the alleys of Pervomayskaya?
Winking sun, silver horn of half-Moon, which could reach. A moiré cape short summer nights, embroidered with gold? A web white frost, lost a sloppy winter?
Oh, and one day when I slipped and fell straight to a blue spruce?
Many years passed, I’ve never seen such a beautiful spruce.
Do you remember how we ran with a lectures, pre-translated arrowsof wall clock clocks for a quarter of an hour ahead and sat in a cinema “Rodina”, the fifteenth time watching the film “Abba”?
Oh, and poplar fluff that climbed into his mouth and ears?
As we sat in the ice-cream, noisy, drank “Tarragon” emerald green, eating ice cream with grated chocolate, a free translation of Shakespeare, Chaucer and read aloud in chorus sang:
-Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away.
And we sang just as good as “Beatles” did. Did’nt we?
And the nightingale’s warble interspersed with the tram bell. Magic singing cicadas, a myriad of fireflies in the meadow, embroidered with golden buttercups and wild daisies, suns. Jolly frog orchestra and falling stars.
Then we were happy.
You know, do not even have time to appreciate what is there.
It seemed that the world is woven from threads of kindness, tenderness and affection. Intoxicating taste of fresh milk and fresh cream trickles pretty bored. Chocolate “Seventh Heaven”, a milkshake and lemonade “Duchess.”
One fine morning, all gone. There was some anxiety and a feeling that you fly down the mountain. Wheel of life began to turn at a breakneck pace. “Snickers”, “Mars”, hot dogs, a Turkish biscuit, which was consumed as a sheet of paper, leather, fur, enabling powerful cars. Silk, crystal and Bohemian glass. Flea markets, which drove around the Great Caucasus. Arms Market, gunpowder and stray bullets.
Do you remember the huge brown eyes and his seven-year Edik’s frozen smile?
He did not even understand why they killed him. Today, when, his killer is dead, I tell you that his thirty years old uncle bought a Kalashnikov rifle and decided to check whether the fall in stray dogs. Lucky dog. but Edick was not. His schoolbag was left standing on the windowsill. His mom quietly gone mad after learning that her husband agreed to take his brother’s car backed into the sign of silence and the disclosure of child murder by negligence.
I know it hurt you when I recall the roar of tanks, the noise of gunfire and the roar of the bombers.
Quiet weeping of grannies, babies’ cry, lump in throat men madly love their families, but forced to go to war. Woman, biting her lips, which can not afford to stop their husbands. It iIs not accepted in our society to show the purity of their relationship. And to show our weakness in public.
Do you remember my friend Asherah? On the day when we were bombed, her nineteen-daughter was there with his mother. Student of one of Moscow institutes for mom came into town, which already lay in ruins. I walked out of the basement and saw Medinat keeps bleeding mortally wounded mother. Quietly weeps tears of blood, stroking a single wrinkle on the white mother’s face, saying:
– Mommy, how did it happen that I have not had time to see that your wrinkles? It appeared in the day when you let me in a strange city? And maybe that day when I said that I fell in love and I have a suggestion? And maybe that day when my father got married, dreaming about his son? And maybe that day when we lost connection between because of this war? Mom, darling, you’re so beautiful. I put on your head a green ribbon. Just you wait for me. Be sure to wait.
I barely touched her shoulder when she was not looking at me and asked:
– Correct mom legs. They are somehow ugly lies. Pull the skirt of her dress and cover the knee.
When I returned with my neighbor, we found killed Medinat. Some sniper made another notch on his gun-cannon of killings. My gun is a pen and notebook. And I was taught the methods of teaching foreign languages. Medinat dreamied to treat children. Asherah baked the most delicious cakes and tarts. A sniper learned how to shoot. Perhaps he, too, was a diligent student.
I know, dear, you’ve seen thousands of deaths. You saw the children, whose eyes saw dying parents. You have seen hundreds of mothers who have nothing to feed their hungry children. Tens of thousands of maimed, disfigured by two world wars. Heard the earth was humming, calling heaven to witness. Saw the sun and moon, mourning saints and sinners, whose corpse was eaten dog.
Do you remember those mad people who were dragging carts refrigerators, televisions, old carpets and broken lockers?
Tracer bullets whistle, blast waves, covering the ruins of the once buried in the greenery of the city. Checkpoints. Dirty Math. Shouting. Shots. Arrests. Fear of an impending night, when you knock drunk armed, masked men. Well, if you take away the last penny. And when they require you to plead guilty in the desire to live? How to explain that you are at home? How to explain that you are not afraid of death?
This toothless old nag did not look into us by age, sex, religion, language and health. She took very strong, newborn, sick, deaf and dumb. Why she left the octogenarian Idris? Looked to him by a stray bullet, broke the right forearm, tore off his left ear, has deprived the right foot, fell from a heart attack, double-trodden microstroke, took his grandchildren and his only son, and left to sit on the bench of the destroyed house. Blinded by salty tears Ramin, a trembling hand gives him a cane and helps to get up. He makes a few steps and waiting for his old, help him make a few more steps before the war killed the garden, which he gave sixty years of his life.
And remember …
Stage, museums and exhibitions. Colored singing fountains, a merry-go-round, a swimming pool and a park of Culture. Sun-smelling peaches, poured juice grapes, carved maple outfits and large kernels and astringent berries of dogwood medlar. Turn sour and bright stars of late flowers, heads bowed under the weight of the first snow.
Thread memory I associate the fragments of his and your life.
Believe me, during those years, having lived away from you, I have suffered. Not for one second you will not forget. Very rarely in their anxiety dreams flitted swallow, trying to come back to you.
Praying for you, asking God to tighten your wounds.
I know that you’re a hero. A real hero, wait in a brutal war, started mad. Some you killed, while others loved. A third pulled with you all the juices.
My hero, I have returned to you. And before I leave, I want to drop to your lips, chest to cuddle and whisper:
– And how much I love you, my dear, darling!
Let’s dance, my Solzha-ghala- Hero City!