On common graves you hardly find any cross, And widows donít cry ever - There someone will bring the bouquet of the roses, And burn the Eternal Flame there. And here the earth had gone upwards from bombs, Today - here are granit gravestones. And hardly you find any personal tomb, Together all fates hereíre joined. But suddenly youíll see in Flame - the burned tank, And firing huts in the village, And burning Smolensk, and the burning Reichstag, And heart, burning bright, of the soldier. You canít find a widow at common graves, The people, who come here, are strong, On those graves no one would place a cross, But is it more easy to hold?
© Lyudmila Purgina. Translation, 2011