talk to me. friend alexander karpenko on the grass and they mow it, and i was knocked down, i need itwhich i was blown up on, what does this mean for a young guy of 27 years old ? a pilot, this means not to serve, to fly, no. what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. nothing else 13 years, served flew and jumped with a parachute. the main thing is to never give up, the strong in spirit win, and we will win, victory will be ours, because we are with god. thank you, very much. the writer and playwright came from chelyabinsk to donbass in 2014 and fought as part of the brigade, ghost under command of alexei mozgovoy and kept his poetic diary, and the miracles that people can do 9 years ago in september. i left donbass. i left home for the urals with a heavy heart, because i couldn’t answer the question for myself. i'll come, i'll come here again. will i return to this land? but miracles, as it turns out , do happen in our lives. and here i am standing on the holy, blood-stained sacred land of new russia. and the great russian artist dmitry dyuzhev is preparing to read my poem at a halt. th

thank you, this song is very dear to my heart, my friend alexander karpenko was on fire, in this one old? a pilot, this means not to serve, to fly, no. whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger. nothing else for 13 years, served, flew and jumped with a parachute. the main thing is to never give up , the strong in spirit win, and we will win because with god, thank you very much. writer and the playwright came from chelyabinsk to donbass in 2014, fought as part of the brigade ghost under the command of alexei mozgovoy and kept his poetic diary, and miracles that people can do 9 years ago in september. i left donbass. i left home for the urals with a heavy heart, because i couldn’t answer the question for myself. i'll come, i'll come here again . will i return to this land? but miracles, as it turns out, do happen in our lives. and here i am standing on the holy, blood-stained sacred land of new russia. and a big russian artist dmitry dyuzhev is preparing to read my poem at a rest stop. poem by e. it was born in the fourteenth year and was born not from the head, not from fantasy, but