|
Wandering through the dark corridors,
forty years later,
that once echoed
from the bell signalling the break,
stormily running to the school yard,
sliding down the railing,
happily the blue necktie fluttering,
we little cosmonauts and
in leather trousers and long knee-length socks,
like the girls in colorful dresses
and with perky blonde braids,
the navel to the Motherland
that protected us,
not yet smashed by
the West German warmonger
that we arduously fought,
there we cut a chain of pennants,
there we constructed a rocket,
Comrade Ulbricht trusting us
affectionately, so that we would follow him
to feed the well-being of Germany,
to extend the hand to
the friend of freedom,
to write a letter to the little Polish girl,
in the great Soviet country
constructing the magistrates of oil,
to donate rice and millet
to the brave Vietnamese,
so that he would courageously liberate
his nation, like giving consolation
to the Palestinian comrades
in the holiday camp, while singing
and dancing, who remorselessly
tortured found recovery with us
So we move along, aged, but
the freshness of our fighting spirit
they did not shake,
they that believe they defeated us:
herds of Teddy's pioneers
will rise up from the
derangement of the dark
poison that the blood suckers
of this world cunningly mixed:
they will wave again,
the flags of the free Motherland,
they will sound again,
the songs of the little trumpeter!
|