Вершы, прысвечаныя блізкім

 

Вершы, прысвечаныя блізкім

 

                                                                                                           Аляксей Якімовіч

Май

                                                                               Прысвячаю дзеду Аляксандру і

                                                                                  бабулі Марысі.

 

Квітнее май.

                                                              Бэз расцвітае,

                                                              Майго дзядулю

                                                              З вайны чакае.

 

                                                              Чакае рэчка,

                                                              Лужок зялёны,

                                                              Стаяць, чакаюць

                                                              Ля вёскі клёны.

 

                                                              Чакае поле

                                                               І лес сасновы.

                                                               Іржой пакрыўся

                                                               Плужок сталёвы.

 

                                                               І мне здаецца:

                                                               Ідзе мой дзед.

                                                               Ламлю галінкі,

                                                               Раблю букет.

 

                                                               -- Унук, не трэба, --

                                                               Кажа бабуля. –

                                                               Дзеда дагнала

                                                               У змроку куля.

 

                                                               Ля мора сіняга

                                                               Твой дзед упаў,

                                                               Зямлю чужую

                                                               Рукой абняў.

 

                                                               Прыходзіць май.

                                                               Прыходзіць свята.

                                                               Не павіншую я

                                                               Майго салдата.

 

                                                               З вачэй бабулі

                                                               Цякуць слязінкі,

                                                               На родным твары

                                                               Даўно маршчынкі.

 

                                                                Слёзы глытае

                                                                Мая бабуля.

                                                                Дзед не вярнуўся:

                                                                Дагнала куля.

 

                                                               Квітнее май.

                                                               Бэз расцвітае.

                                                              Шпак ля шпакоўні

                                                              Свішча, спявае.

                                                                                       2022

 

                                                                                                             Аляксей Якімовіч

На лясной паляначцы

                                                                  Прысвячаю дзеду Аляксандру і бабулі

                                                                  Парасі, расстраляных фашыстамі ў 1941

                                                                  годзе.

 

                                                             На паляначцы лясной

                                                             Птушкі выцінаюць,

                                                             Нараджэнне, новы дзень

                                                             Радасна вітаюць.

                                 

                                                             У траве гараць суніцы.

                                                             Іх я не збіраю:

                                                             Ля сасны шурпатай

                                                             Стаю і разважаю.

 

                                                             Бачу дзеда і бабулю,

                                                             Галасы іх чую.

                                                             Выціраю са шчакі

                                                             Слязіначку скупую.

 

                                                            -- Чаму нас злыдні прывялі?..

                                                            За што мучаць?.. Не маўчы!

                                                            Сонца свеціць, зіхаціць…

                                                            Я ж стаю, як уначы.

 

                                                             Апусціла жонка вочы,

                                                             Адказу чакае.

                                                             Па хваінцы тонкай

                                                             Смала паўзе, сцякае.

 

                                                             -- Людзі выбралі мяне…

                                                             Быў я дэпутатам…

                                                             Скрыва пазірае

                                                             Чужынец з аўтаматам.

 

                                                             -- Без нас застануцца

                                                             Нашы Ваня, Коля.

                                                             Завіхурыць іх

                                                             Нядобрая доля.

 

                                                            -- Не прападуць, пражывуць…

                                                            Былі яны са мною…

                                                            -- Ніколі не сустрэнем

                                                         Іх разам з табою?

 

                                                         Уздыхнуўшы, жонка

                                                         За руку ўзялася.

                                                         Вось каб птушкаю цяпер

                                                         Увысь яна ўзнялася!

 

                                                         Пясок валіцца пад ногі:

                                                         Яму паглыбляюць.

                                                         На паляначцы сунічнай

                                                         Птушкі выцінаюць.

 

                                                         Вунь дарога, вядзе ў вёску,

                                                         А там людзі свае…

                                                         Нехта з іх даносы піша,

                                                         У гестапа здае.

 

                                                        -- Нашы хлопцы спраўныя,

                                                        Але сэрца баліць.

                                                        Паляцела б у хату,

                                                        Каб абняць, пакарміць.

 

                                                         -- Дзед насупраць жыве.

                                                         Дапаможа, прыйдзе.

                                                         Дзетак ён падтрымае,

                                                         Не пакіне ў бядзе.

 

                                                         Ногі босыя топчуць

                                                         Белаваты пясок,

                                                         Пакідаюць адбітак…

                                                         У яму ўпадзе слядок.

 

                                                         -- Слухай, мілы, каханы!

                                                         Зязюлька кукуе!

                                                         Загадаю жаданне…

                                                         Мо яна нас пачуе.

 

                                                         Папрашу, каб гадочкі

                                                         Нашы тут палічыла.

                                                         Людзі вераць… У зязюлек

                                                         Чарадзейная сіла.

 

                                                         Прагучала каманда…

                                                         Кулі джаляць, ляцяць…

                                                         Перастала зязюля

                                                         У бары кукаваць.

 

                                                         Я стаю ля сасны,

                                                         Размаўляю я з ёю.

                                                         Яна ў тыя гады

                                                         Тут была маладою.                       

                                                                              2022

         З кнігі “Эльдарада просіць дапамогі”.

Выдадзена ў выдавецтве “Беларусь”.

Якімовіч, А. М. Эльдарада просіць дапамогі : прыгодніцка-фантастычная аповесць, аповесці-казкі, вершы  / Аляксей Якімовіч . – Мінск : Беларусь, 2023. – 487 с.