Sacred crosses do not adorn common graves Nor do widows sob there in despair Only flower bouquets to the passerby wave An eternal fire burns through the air. Here, where the Earth used to rear on its legs Now cold slabs of granite lie still Here, not a soul lived a personal life Lives melted together with skill. In the eternal fire: a tank is ablaze Russian huts are devoured by flames Both Smolensk and the Reichstag ash to the ground And a soldier’s heart sears with his aims. Widows tears do not wash over these common graves The strong-willed come here and the steely Sacred crosses do not adorn common graves But the soul does not breathe more freely!
© Arkady Yanishevsky. Translation, 2008