Александр Проханов - Быть русским - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

In moments of rare soul silence, I ask myself that for me Russia, and what am I for her? I was born on this earth, I am the grain of the grains of this land, from drops of dew, from its rays, from flower pollen. Russia has created me as the Lord made Adam, and breathed his life and his spirit into me.

Russia for me is a sparkling night January stars and wondrous daily dazzling snow from the horizon to the horizon. Russia for me is windy oaks, filled with rain groves, ravines raging during the spring flood. These are forest flowers, then blue, then scarlet, then white. Russia for me is endless spills of rivers and flying summer clouds across the sky.

Russia for me is the language that I have learned the names of the Father and Mother who gave me me in early childhood. In this language, I read my little children Russian fairy tales, I prayed in this language and pray. This language allowed me to survive the highest pleasures, reading the poems of Mandelstam and Gumileva, Pushkin and Lermontov. I still love to open the pages of Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Bunin and dying away from delight, from the delight of what is in the world such a divine Russian language.

Russia for me is a Russian story, this is the story of my kind and my people, who, the farther removing from my day, more and more merging into something huge, infinite, expensive me, ready to take me to my arms When I disappear from this land. Russia for me is my faith. I pray in Russia. She, Russia, opens the heavenly azure, from which I learn that there is no death that we are all immortal and love in the world.

Russia for me is the Volga. The Volga, on the shores of which there were many peoples - Russian, Chuvashi, Tatars, Kazakhs, Steppe people, Finns, Ugra, Muslims, Orthodox. The peoples that came to this delightful water to the sacred Russian river and have developed in an amazing power between three oceans, a power that demonstrates harmony and beauty.

I survived with my homeland terrible monstrous days when she died when I shouted from pain, shouted with her. I saw her dying, and felt that I was dying. And we died, she and me. And we went to the coffin. And it seemed that this death was infinite. But gradually, obeying the mysterious laws of Russian history, we began to open your eyes, at first she, then I. And we stood out of the coffin. And now I am admiration for attending universities, where many excellent, wondrous, beautiful young men and a lady. I visit the plants where wonderful cars are built, modern aircraft and spacecraft. I go out into the fields, who were lying as a waste of ten years, were not plowed, birch trees were growing on them, and they barded the wild forest. Now they are breaking and shoots on them.

I think that when my earthly days will leave, and I will leave from under this world, I will again come back in that land that created me, and again turn into these grains, in these droplets of dew, in these overflow rays of light. And again I will return to those infinitely loved ones and distant people who wait for me there in another life, sit in a feast, prepare her place for me. And I will appline my people. And thinking about my homeland, crying with her, leaking along with her, endowed with her amazing gifts and opportunities, sometimes unworthy of her, I repeat after our great commander Alexander Vasilyevich Suvorov: "Lord, what happiness to be Russian!"