On brotherly graves wooden crosses don’t stand,
No widows weep there, mourning,
On mass graves you see only flowers and
The fire, eternally burning.
The earth here ruffled with stony waves
When mortars were ripping the planet.
There is no personal fate in these graves –
All fates merged in one under granite!
I see in the flame, that forever is lit,
A village burnt down to coals,
A tank that is flaming and there in it
I see burning soldiers’ souls!
On brotherly graves no widows weep,
And there they put no crosses …
But it doesn’t mean our grief isn’t deep
And we have forgotten the losses!
Translated by George Tokarev
© GEORGE TOKAREV 2003