WE ARE RUSSIANS
WE ARE RUSSIANS - a poem by Konstantin Frolov-Krymsky.
#myrusskie#vgostyakhuledivalentiny#russia
One weirdo with a fake-sad face,
"Huddling" in the cabin of his Porsche,
He said: "I am ashamed to be called Russian.
We are a nation of incompetent drunks."
Solid appearance, manner of behavior –
Everything is devilishly thought out.
But a merciless degeneration virus
I've worn out his inglorious insides.
His soul is not worth half a penny,
Like a yellow leaf from broken branches.
And here is a descendant of the Ethiopians Pushkin
He was not burdened by his Russianness.
They considered themselves Russians by right
And they raised the Motherland from their knees
The creators of Russian maritime glory
Both Bellingshausen and Krusenstern.
And not putting up with a narrow worldview,
Trying to look beyond the horizon,
It was considered an honor to be called Russian
The Scots are Greig, de Tolly and Lermont.
Any of them is worthy of admiration,
Because singing the Motherland is a law for them!
So he gave his life without regret
For Russia, the Georgian Prince Bagration.
Our language is multifaceted, precise, and faithful –
It heals the soul, then it stinks like steel.
Are we able to appreciate him immensely
And to know him as the Dane Dahl knew?
What's the Distance! And in our time , a lot of
Those who speak a great language
No worse than the crest of Mykola Gogol,
What was once with Pushkin's sign?
Do not knock your head against the wall
And in a rage to spray saliva in vain!
"We are Russians!" - that's what Shevchenko said.
Read kobzar more carefully.
I cherish filial love in my soul,
All my life I worked up to seven sweats
Suvorov, Ushakov and Mendeleev,
Kulibin, Lomonosov and Popov.
Their names remained on the tablets
As a true history of the basics.
And among them as a pillar -old Derzhavin,
In whose veins is the blood of the Tatar Murza.
They go – now servants, now messiahs -
Carrying their cross bent on their shoulders,
How he carried it in the name of all Russia
A descendant of the Turk, Admiral Kolchak.
They instilled and nurtured love
From the age-old origins and roots.
The one is a Russian whose soul lives in Russia,
Whose thoughts are about my mother, about her.
Patriotism is not sold in the load
To berets, boots or coats.
And if you are ashamed to be called Russian,
You, my dear, are not Russian! You are nobody!