, belovezhskaya pucha, shit is forgotten here, our parent crok, the couple heard the voice of theturies, i come to you, belaveshskaya bush, the deadly heat from distant centuries, i come to you, melovezhskaya forest. with an inconspicuous trobe i check the steepness, where the core is high, where the river is overgrown, there with my knees, the spring truth, the shallow push. the perennial oak tree of my greatness becomes the slopes of the report, the graying children of your tooth. so they don’t want to choose belavezhskaya pushcha, melagerskaya pushcha, your children zugrakh, they don’t want to die out, bilavezhskaya pushcha, benadezhda musya. our region through the eyes of foreigners, i was surprised that nature was so beautiful and so clean, how different everything was, so neat. our heroic and compact land, the wars grumbled silently on its cascade, and i met with courage and finally rammed my truth and faith. memory of the land here, and in the ancient garadzishchs, and in the mounds, which the fallen abaronians lost... to the dead of the castle and in the eternal flames bef