On brotherly graves wooden crosses donít 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 soldiersí souls! On brotherly graves no widows weep, And there they put no crosses... But it doesnít mean our grief isnít deep And we have forgotten the losses!
© George Tokarev. Translation, 2003
Edited by Robert Titterton
© Chris Adams. Music, 2011
ó Javier Ballester. Performance, 2011