No crosses are placed upon brothers’ graves
and widows do not weep by them
Here somebody places flower bouquets
and lights the eternal flame.
The earth itself had risen up in this place
but now it is covered with granite
Here there’s not a single personal fate;
all fates have been melded together.
You see in the flame an exploding tank,
you see Russian huts set afire,
a burning Smolensk and a burning Reichstag
and the burning heart of the soldier
By brothers’ graves no teary-eyed widows stand
The people who come here are stronger
Upon brothers’ graves no crosses are placed
But does that lighten the load?