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Чатыры вершы

 

                                                                               Чатыры вершы                                      

 

                                                                                                             Аляксей Якімовіч

                                                              Мой род

 

                                                            І ўлетку, і ўзімку

                                                            Я крочу дамоў.

                                                            Мой род старажытны

                                                            Тут жыў шмат гадоў.

 

                                                          Зямлю ён араў,

                                                          На ёй сеяў зярняты,

                                                          Сярпочкам зжынаў

                                                          Ураджай свой багаты.

 

                                                          Тут скрыпка гучала,

                                                          Гармонік іграў.

                                                          Мой род у святліцах

                                                          Вяселлі спраўляў.

 

                                                          Калі ж вораг прагны

                                                          Прыходзіў з бядою,

                                                          Мой род не скараўся,

                                                          Уставаў грамадою.

 

                                                          Мой род з ласкі Бога

                                                          Тут мову стварыў,

                                                          У часінку сівую

                                                          На ёй гаманіў.

 

                                                          Ля рэчкі імклівай

                                                          Тут мова гучала,

                                                          З жанчынамі ў полі

                                                          Прыгожа спявала.

 

                                                          Ляцелі імгненні,

                                                          Міналі гады.

                                                          Мой род не старэў,

                                                          Быў заўжды малады.

 

                                                          Мой род, маё шчасце,

                                                          Табой ганаруся,

                                                          Стаю прад бажніцай

                                                          І шчыра малюся.

 

                                                          За нашу крынічку,

                                                          За родную мову,

                                                          За луг аксамітны

                                                          І нашу дуброву.

 

                                                         На вуснах малітва,

                                                         У душы цеплыня.

                                                         Мой род, не згінайся.

                                                         Зямля тут твая.

                                                                             2023 год.

 

                                                                                                                 Аляксей Якімовіч

Працавіты беларус

 

Ляціць, кружыцца жаўрук,

                                                       Песеньку спявае.

                                                       Працавіты беларус

                                                       Поле засявае.

 

                                                       Палье зямлю дожджык –

                                                       Вырасце пшаніца.

                                                       Каравай духмяны

                                                       Спячэ маладзіца.

 

                                                       У бары сасновым

                                                       Зязюля кукуе.

                                                       Працавіты беларус

                                                       Дом сабе будуе.

 

                                                       Высокія сцены

                                                       Падмурак трымае.

                                                       Як грыбок у лесе,

                                                       Домік падрастае.

 

                                                       Хмаркі праплываюць,

                                                       Грэюцца вароны.

                                                       Працавіты беларус

                                                       Косіць луг зялёны.

 

                                                      Сонца прыўзнялося,

                                                      Стаіць над ракою.

                                                      Наваколле пахне

                                                      Свежаю травою.

 

                                                      Павучок на павуцінцы

                                                      З ветрыкам лятае.

                                                      Працавіты беларус

                                                      Гасцей сустракае.

 

                                                      Бубен б’е заўзята,

                                                      Скрыпка выцінае,

                                                      На вясёлы танец

                                                      Баян запрашае.

 

                                                      У небе кружыцца жаўрук,

                                                      Крыльцамі махае.

                                                      Працавіты беларус

                                                      Усюды паспявае.

                                                                            2023 год

 

                                                                                                                Аляксей Якімовіч

Жыццё

 

На лясной палянцы

                                                             Дубок падрастае.

                                                             Маладая маці сыночка люляе.

 

                                                             Сыночка люляе,

                                                             Ціхенька спявае:

 

                                                             -- Спі, мілы сыночак,

                                                              Спі, мая надзея.

                                                              Няхай наша хата

                                                              Цяплом цябе грэе.

 

                                                              На лясной палянцы

                                                              Дубок падрастае.

                                                              Маці свайго сына

                                                              У школу адпраўляе.

 

                                                              У школу адпраўляе,

                                                              Яго павучае:

 

                                                              -- У школе на уроках

                                                              Шмат чаго пачуеш.

                                                              Будзеш акуратны –

                                                              З кнігай пасябруеш.

 

                                                              На лясной палянцы

                                                              Дубок падрастае.

                                                              Маці свайго сына

                                                              У войска выпраўляе.

 

                                                              У войска выпраўляе,

                                                              Ціха вымаўляе:

 

                                                              -- Служы там як трэба.

                                                              Помні: ты мужчына.

                                                              На руку скацілася

                                                              Маміна слязіна.

 

                                                              На лясной палянцы

                                                              Дубок падрастае.

                                                              Маці свайму сыну

                                                              Вяселле спраўляе.

 

                                                              Вяселле спраўляе,

                                                              Пры гасцях жадае:

 

                                                              -- Беражы каханую,

                                                              Не псуй ёй настрою,

                                                              Па прамой дарозе

                                                              Кроч ты разам з ёю.

 

                                                              Дубок на палянцы

                                                              Жалуды скідае.

                                                              Маці пасівела,

                                                              Унукаў даглядае.

 

                                                              Туляцца унукі,

                                                              Моцна абнімаюць,

                                                              Ласкава бабулечкай

                                                              Яе называюць.

                                                                                     2023 год.

 

                                                                                                            Аляксей Якімовіч

Любіце Пана Бога

 

   Самага вялікага,

                                                                 Самага святога

                                                                 Слаўце, беларусы,

                                                                 Заўжды Пана Бога!

 

                                                                 Грэх у душу лезе,

                                                                 Там хоча ўмясціцца.

                                                                 Значыць, трэба, беларус,

                                                                 Богу памаліцца.

 

                                                                 Мой сынок маленькі,

                                                                 Вельмі не журыся.

                                                                 Калі стане цяжка,

                                                                 Богу памаліся.

 

                                                                 Цяжка жыць на свеце?

                                                                 На душы трывога?

                                                                 Любіце, беларусы,

                                                                 Святога Пана Бога.

                                                                                  2022 год