И. Растеряев - Дед Агван
текст песни

Grandfather Agwan

I have not seen my grandfathers,
And it could hardly see:
All before my birth
They died.

But I am not deprived of fate
I'm still happy.
There was a grandfather nearby, albeit not a native
But beloved.

He was non -Russian - from the Armenians,
From the village, from the people -
Agnvan Tigranich Grigoryan,
The twenty -sixth year.

He was a hero and a veteran -
Such that right from the book -
For all. And I threw him
Behind the scruff of the ice.

I knew everything since childhood -
After all, grandfather, without any bargain
I taught me every day
With a plate of semolina.

Everything was like this: he pass peacefully
Ararat's sheep.
And suddenly she took it on us
German armada,

So that neither Russians nor Armenians
There was no one in nature
But then Grandfather Agwan drove up,
And he was sharply against.

True, not one rode up ...
Flocked like rivers,
Thousands of Georgians there,
Kazakhs and Uzbeks ...

A multilingual crowd
They got into the trenches.
And in those trenches with a whole gouns
Instantly raveled.

Instead of sheep this time
The others were animals.
And grandfather in the sight of his own
"Tiger" pass, twisted the tail "Panther" ...

In Russian, the common went with him
First not perfect
But the phrase "tower tore off"
He understood - literally.

I could have three plates with my grandfather
Eat the same porridge
Listening to how they went
To the west by foot march.

And, as always, once again
In the end, they threw it ...
And then there was such a story
Like in a tender series:

"Berlin. April. The earth is trembling.
Shells, bullets - hail ... "
And the grandfather runs along the street
With a trophy automatic.

Around - broken houses,
Like the mountains of the Caucasian crests.
Grandfather has five grenades with him,
Suddenly look: on a bunch of crushed stone

Lies, whine from terrible wounds,
One, like a chip in a storm,
The same as him, kid,
But only in German form.

And pokes grandfather on the window
Explains with his hands
That he is at his house
Lies and dies.

What is his parents there,
That he is Berlin, local,
His war is dominated
Before your entrance.

And grandfather on top of his luggage
At least it was not strong
Heaned him, and to the floor -
Where dad with mom,

Where the beam led the beam,
Where the lamp is warming up:
“Meet, Frau, your
German soldier "...

Grandfather, talking about this moment,
Suddenly changed immediately:
About a terrible maternal cry,
About how it remained there.

Like in the kitchen where the Shandal was burning,
Water was heated,
How to wash off the mud
Over the years and weeks,

How I slept on white sheets
Among the war and hell
And saw dreams about peaceful days
In the Ararat Valley.

How in the morning he went again
To the victorious close date,
Hearing the “Danke Schon” behind,
By answering them "goodbye" ...

Here I always interrupted
He listened hardly:
“Grandfather, what kind of nonsense?
Come on, how you shot!

Come on how you burned in fire,
Almost died on a mine ... " -
It was not interesting to me
About the sheets in Berlin.

But the grandfather fell silent for something
Walked behind the adding porridge
And porridge again pushed into his mouth,
So that I am faster I am older ...

He is not, but I am big.
And suddenly I documented:
That day was the most important fight
For the title of man.