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Ustinovskaya, Yekaterina |
Уже 22 года... |
24/10/24 13:38 more... |
author Аноним |
Kurbatova, Christina |
Детки Милые, хорошие наши детки!!! Так просто не должно быть, это больно, это нечестно, это ужасно. |
30/06/24 01:30 more... |
author Ольга |
Grishin, Alexey |
Памяти Алексея Дмитриевича Гришина Светлая память прекрасному человеку! Мы работали в ГМПС, тогда он был молодым начальником отдела металлов, подающим боль... |
14/11/23 18:27 more... |
author Бондарева Юлия |
Panteleev, Denis |
Вот уже и 21 год , а будто как вчера !!!! |
26/10/23 12:11 more... |
author Ирина |
Ustinovskaya, Yekaterina |
Помним. |
24/10/23 17:44 more... |
author Аноним |
A Minute of MEMORY |
Written by Анастасия Шатохина | ||||||||
Пятница, 23 Октябрь 2009 | ||||||||
On October 23, 2009, students at the «How sad sometimes, that time flies, Like a flock of cranes on a dim, old canvas. Up high, under the sun, their cry dissolves in the wind, As with the terror attack on the musical »But in people's memories will forever remain That long, bloody day, a day of death and loss And why is it that in a country, where it's peaceful and carefree, Where all are safe, now there is war?" These verses were read during the Minute of MEMORY, and no one could remain indifferent, not the teachers, nor the students, nor even the guests of the college. These verses were read during the Minute of MEMORY, and no one could remain indifferent, not the teachers, nor the students, nor even the guests of the college.
Of bitter, maternal tears, And the tears of children, who suffered, And their unfulfilled hopes and dreams. But how many families have suffered anguish, Losing friends and loved ones? And one in five disabled, Shackled for life in thousands of chains… The terror attack covered ancient home cities In a bloody wave, And with the rhythm of the frantic pace Days and years go by. That wind, which is called the Nor'easter Sowed a severe, unique sin With slain children and slain adults Now to exist far from all Is our And full of unfulfilled hopes and dreams. And in memory of those days, about that grief The Alley of Roses blooms by us…
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