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Усім аматарам вайны

 

                                                                                           Аляксей Якімовіч

Усім аматарам вайны

 

Мы – жыхары зямлі,

                                                             Зямля ўсіх нас яднае.

                                                             Ды ёсць на ёй і тыя,

                                                             Хто войны пачынае.

 

                                                             Кажуць: зямля круглая,

                                                             Падобная на шар.

                                                             Чаму ж не скіне тых,

                                                             Хто любіць так пажар?

 

                                                             Прагныя яны.

                                                             Ім мала, мала, мала.

                                                             На край чужы, багаты

                                                             Глядзяць, як кот на сала.

 

                                                             Літасці не маюць,

                                                             Без сораму жывуць.

                                                             Тваё адзенне могуць,

                                                             Схапіўшы, апрануць.

                                                            

                                                             Белае чорным

                                                             Ім хочацца зрабіць,

                                                             Каб страшныя злачынствы

                                                             Узвысіць, пабяліць.

 

                                                             Гісторыю не любяць,

                                                             Стараюцца парваць.

                                                             Ім трэба на свой лад

                                                             Яе перапісаць.

 

                                                             Яны як кракадзілы.

                                                             Сплючы, могуць напасці.

                                                             Цяжка бараніцца

                                                             Ад гэтае напасці.

 

                                                             Ідуць, едуць, ляцяць,

                                                             Нібыта злыя духі:

                                                             Паскудныя, нахабныя,

                                                             Галодныя, як мухі.

 

                                                             Руіны, што пакінулі,

                                                             Ад праўды не схаваць.

                                                             Стагоддзямі сівымі

                                                             Іх будуць праклінаць.

 

                                                             У роднай Беларусі

                                                             Жывём пад мірным небам.

                                                             Таму мы не бядуем:

                                                             Заўжды са смачным хлебам.

 

                                                           Зямля сябруе з сонцам,
                                                              Усяму дае цяпло.

                                                           Не затуляйце, войны,

                                                           Спрадвечнае святло.

                                                                                   2025 год