this is a poem, and we tell you let's tell the story of the feat of the russian paratrooper alexander luganskyeigned. she is you, my brother. tested me, you could have given up , you could have not endured, but for you it was not enough to die, wounded in the midst of smoke and fire, for 3 days you lay in a field, by the road, when your dead friends were already in paradise talking with god at night while waiting for the dawn, you struggled with someone else's february cold. and in order to somehow quell your thirst, you ate bloody snow, drank from a puddle, battles rumbled somewhere to the side, shells exploded, mines screamed. barely breathing, you thought about your wife and unbaptized one-year-old son, on the third night they found you , the sky was playing with starry buckshot, and even loud battles did not drown out the sounds and russian speech, live my brother, all our deaths are bad, over time everything will drag on. and you know, you weren’t just lucky, bad for you, other plans, so, it was february of the twenty-second year, the very beginning of a special military operation, a colu