Текст песни С. Бухтияров-Орловский - Моему брату

TO MY BROTHER

The white lapel vest is ironed
A finger is decorated with an exquisite ring.
To your wife, you are a faithful husband
And the daughter is a caring father.

All work, care for the good,
Sometimes working seven days a week
Poems do not get dirty paper -
Not a word - business delight relatives.

You seem to know everything and foresee
The fate of its twisting thread.
And you only believe what you see clearly
Equally to the power to explain.

But day after day saves you
A comfortable stand from the truth
And, like a slave submissive, quilts
Worldly worries ruthless whip.

You may be a responsible employee
A wonderful husband, an exemplary family man,
Honorary fisherman or hunter -
That mask, if you are not a citizen!

And if you are alien to joyful dreams
About the good of those who are now behind
You are not praise, but an angry scolding
You will be chased on the way.

And nightly by me before dawn
You will be branded in shame in verses
As branded by today's poet
Yesterday's slave named Semyon.

S. Bukhtiyarov-Orlovsky
had a hand