By Eugene Buntov musician, poet, paratrooper,
veteran of the Soviet-Afghan war (1979-1989)
head of the “Soldiers of Russia” Cultural Centre. “What diference does it make, Sergeant.” The bonfire gleams on our guns, The morning isn’t close, there’s time to smoke. Let sleepy mountains lie quiet in the dark. What difference does it make, sergeant, what day it is today? Why there’s exists a war no soldier comprehands, As our grandfathers in their time we’re also orederd to fire. And rocks are shattered with the shells, and every year as two. What difference does they make, sergeant, our ages at this war? The tracers fly towards the clouds, like birds… Your friends enjoy themselves in pubs – And you ran up to the brick wall, and covered me with fire… What difference does it make, sergeant, what your friends are drinking? The sky above us glows red with night-fires…. She used to write to you each day — now has been silent for too long. We eat our food with bayonet-knives and sing our songs of war What difference does it make, sergeant, who she is with? Tomorrow we advance into the mountains. If our luck is bad, We will be sent home early, in a coffin – And your mother will collapse, like injured, on her bed… It matters a lot, sergeant, where we’re buried!