живые translation

I find myself haunted by the same dream:
Old people ascending the stairs
And become pure, heavenly light
And become just joyful children.
 
["We're all alive, we're all right!" -
Video picture, washed out from endless rewind]
 
We sit in the kitchen, doing the simple math,
Taking each death out of memories' tomb.
Shapes of loved ones appear on a hazed path,
A translucent child plays in the ruined room.
 
They're out there, but they're embodied in us,
For the first time, death and I are so bonded,
We sit in the kitchen and for days do this math,
Pretending they all are alive, maybe just not responding.

Minus a hundred at a nameless crossing, roughly keen,
And minus a thousand in a direction unseen.
At a Donetsk bus stop, people call someone's mum,
Telling about the one whom she will never see.
 
"And how many folks died in the streets",
Adding you almost tender, politely.
 
The summer air makes my throat swell,
The balcony curtain trembles slightly.