The meaning of the lyrics of the song "The Ballad of Struggle" (Ballada o borbe) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

Amidst the melted candles and evening prayers,

Amidst the trophies of war and peaceful bonfires,

Lived children of books, who knew not of battles,

Languishing from their own petty disasters.

Children are always annoyed

By their age and their life –

And we fought to the point of scrapes,

To mortal grievances,

But our mothers patched our clothes

On time –

While we devoured books,

Intoxicated by the lines.

Hair clung to our sweaty foreheads,

And our hearts ached sweetly from phrases,

And the scent of struggle swirled around our heads,

Flowing onto us from the yellowed pages.

And we, who knew no wars,

Tried to comprehend,

Mistaking a war cry

For a battle hymn,

The mystery of the word "order,"

The purpose of borders,

The meaning of attack and the clang

Of battle chariots.

And in the boiling cauldrons of past battles and turmoil,

There was so much food for our little brains!

We assigned our enemies

The roles of traitors, cowards, Judases

In our childhood games.

And we wouldn't let the villain's tracks

Grow cold,

And we promised to love

The fairest of ladies;

And, calming our friends

And loving our neighbors,

We cast ourselves

In the roles of heroes.

But one cannot escape into dreams forever:

Pastimes have a short lifespan – there's so much pain around!

Try to unclench the hands of the dead

And take up arms from weary hands.

Try, having taken possession

Of a still-warm sword

And donned the armor –

What's what, what's what!

Decide who you are: a coward

Or destiny's chosen one –

And taste

A real struggle.

And when a wounded friend collapses beside you

And you cry out in grief over your first loss,

And when you're suddenly left without skin

Because they killed him – not you,

You will understand, you will have learned,

You will have distinguished, you will have found

By the grin of the visor –

It's the grin of death!

Lies and evil – look,

How coarse their faces are,

And always behind them

Are ravens and coffins!

If you haven't eaten

A single piece of meat from a knife,

If you've watched from above

With folded arms,

And haven't joined the fight

Against the scoundrel, the executioner –

Then you've lived your life

Being uninvolved, uninvolved!

If, carving a path with your father's sword,

You've tasted salty tears on your lips,

If you've experienced what's what in the heat of battle –

Then you've read the right books in your childhood!

Средь оплывших свечей и вечерних молитв,

Средь военных трофеев и мирных костров

Жили книжные дети, не знавшие битв,

Изнывая от мелких своих катастроф.

Детям вечно досаден

Их возраст и быт —

И дрались мы до ссадин,

До смертных обид,

Но одежды латали

Нам матери в срок —

Мы же книги глотали,

Пьянея от строк.

Липли волосы нам на вспотевшие лбы,

И сосало под ложечкой сладко от фраз,

И кружил наши головы запах борьбы,

Со страниц пожелтевших слетая на нас.

И пытались постичь

Мы, не знавшие войн,

За воинственный клич

Принимавшие вой,

Тайну слова "приказ",

Назначенье границ,

Смысл атаки и лязг

Боевых колесниц.

А в кипящих котлах прежних боен и смут

Столько пищи для маленьких наших мозгов!

Мы на роли предателей, трусов, иуд

В детских играх своих назначали врагов.

И злодея следам

Не давали остыть,

И прекраснейших дам

Обещали любить;

И, друзей успокоив

И ближних любя,

Мы на роли героев

Вводили себя.

Только в грёзы нельзя насовсем убежать:

Краткий век у забав — столько боли вокруг!

Попытайся ладони у мёртвых разжать

И оружье принять из натруженных рук.

Испытай, завладев

Ещё тёплым мечом

И доспехи надев, —

Что почём, что почём!

Разберись, кто ты: трус

Иль избранник судьбы —

И попробуй на вкус

Настоящей борьбы.

И когда рядом рухнет израненный друг

И над первой потерей ты взвоешь, скорбя,

И когда ты без кожи останешься вдруг

Оттого, что убили его — не тебя,

Ты поймёшь, что узнал,

Отличил, отыскал

По оскалу забрал —

Это смерти оскал!

Ложь и зло — погляди,

Как их лица грубы,

И всегда позади

Вороньё и гробы!

Если мяса с ножа

Ты не ел ни куска,

Если руки сложа

Наблюдал свысока,

А в борьбу не вступил

С подлецом, с палачом, —

Значит в жизни ты был

Ни при чём, ни при чём!

Если, путь прорубая отцовским мечом,

Ты солёные слёзы на ус намотал,

Если в жарком бою испытал что почём, —

Значит нужные книги ты в детстве читал!

In his "Ballad of the Struggle", Vladimir Vysotsky draws a parallel between the world of children's games and the harsh reality of adult life, full of struggle and loss.

The first stanzas describe a carefree childhood filled with book adventures. Children, "who knew no battles", live through their "minor disasters", finding solace in a world of fantasies and heroic stories. Books kindle in them a thirst for struggle, teach them to distinguish good from evil, and form ideas about honor, duty, and feat.

However, Vysotsky does not idealize childhood. He shows how in children's games imitating war, children try on different roles - heroes and villains, learn to resist, fight, win. The author leads to the idea that these games are not just entertainment, but preparation for real life, where everyone has to make their own choices.

With each stanza, reality increasingly intrudes into the world of children's fantasies. Vysotsky calls to "come out of the darkness", "unclench the hands of the dead" and accept the fight. He talks about the price you have to pay for your choice, about the pain of loss, about the encounter with cruelty and betrayal. Vysotsky's hero goes through the crucible of trials, loses friends, learns the bitterness of defeat.

The final lines of the ballad are a call to an active life position. Vysotsky contrasts passive observation ("hands folded, he watched from above") with active participation in the struggle ("cutting a path with his father's sword"). The author is convinced that life is not a game, but a battlefield where you need to fight for your ideals, not being afraid of pain and loss.

"The Ballad of the Struggle" is not just a song, but a true hymn to courage, a call to live not in a world of illusions, but in reality, not to be afraid of difficulties and always remain human.