On the battlefield

Shedding blood on the battlefield
We shed our own souls.
We think that in a hundred centuries,
Life will be more fun, kinder and better.

It's a pity we never know this,
And time is beyond man's control.
And the blood goes into the ground without a trace
Spilled in vain again today.

I hate to be one of those
Who is wasting his strength so ineptly.
Living not with honor - commits a sin,
And who will pay for his life with his soul.

The soul should always strive to the heights,
Her flight, dreaming, striving.
And someone's souls shed blood
Without the meaning of being, without conviction.

And every time, again entering the battle,
Regiments and armies are going to attack.
But what does not make us happy with peace,
And nightingales, and summer heat, and poppies?

Oh, if everything had happened, even by a third,
What did you dream about in your distant youth ...
It wouldn't be so offensive to die
And living would not be so lonely.

There are clouds in the sky, I look into the gap
A yellow ray of the sun penetrated it.
Perhaps there is no soul ..?
Life will throw it into the abyss, and then on the steep.

I heard conversations - and more than once,
I did not agree with these words.
Soul, of course, is in any of us,
Recognized by glorious deeds.

Did you root for your Motherland, people?
And he shed blood - everything will be rewarded in full.
So let the soul live in any of us!
And only soullessness should be feared ...