Russia is changing literally before our eyes - the new generation is mercilessly breaking with its roots. There is a complete oblivion of, albeit imperfect, but still cultural values. We still stand with one foot in the past, with the other we are shakily sliding into the future, in which there is no place for the original Russian village.
We all left the village
Yes, and the village has not been there for 100 years,
Everything is forgotten by the ancient epic,
And the word Rus - there is no such thing!
No one remembers the Song and Dance,
He doesn’t remember the holiday by the river!
And the children ask their mothers,
About what “shepherds” means.
And there are no churches in the villages anymore,
And there are no villages, because there are no churches.
And on a muddy country road,
We cant find any horse tracks.
No one remembers about the mowing,
About haystacks in the fields,
And June signs for us,
They dont say anything!
We have forgotten everything. Everything is gone...
Only the grandmothers at the hut,
They will tell their great-grandchildren and grandchildren,
About what “shepherds” means.
Why am I writing about this?
Why am I talking about this?
I do not know. Decide for yourself.
I love my homeland!
I love clean, fresh air!
I love clear water, raw!
I love the forest. With all my heart, tenderly!
I am ready to live for this!
Im very sad and offended
Looking at the dirty sky,
Coming from Moscow, I can’t see the house,
The round dance leaves are not visible,
That in the fall they circle under the linden tree,
Right in front of the house at the gate….
Author Shelikhov Denis.
Based on plein air sketches and impressions from a trip to the village of Kimzha in the Arkhangelsk region.
We all left the village
Yes, and the village has not been there for 100 years,
Everything is forgotten by the ancient epic,
And the word Rus - there is no such thing!
No one remembers the Song and Dance,
He doesn’t remember the holiday by the river!
And the children ask their mothers,
About what “shepherds” means.
And there are no churches in the villages anymore,
And there are no villages, because there are no churches.
And on a muddy country road,
We cant find any horse tracks.
No one remembers about the mowing,
About haystacks in the fields,
And June signs for us,
They dont say anything!
We have forgotten everything. Everything is gone...
Only the grandmothers at the hut,
They will tell their great-grandchildren and grandchildren,
About what “shepherds” means.
Why am I writing about this?
Why am I talking about this?
I do not know. Decide for yourself.
I love my homeland!
I love clean, fresh air!
I love clear water, raw!
I love the forest. With all my heart, tenderly!
I am ready to live for this!
Im very sad and offended
Looking at the dirty sky,
Coming from Moscow, I can’t see the house,
The round dance leaves are not visible,
That in the fall they circle under the linden tree,
Right in front of the house at the gate….
Author Shelikhov Denis.
Based on plein air sketches and impressions from a trip to the village of Kimzha in the Arkhangelsk region.