They clung to the height, as one clings to his kin.
And mortars were constantly shelling.
We all rushed together to summit this hill
As one storms buffets and train stations.

We crawled to this height in the fire-swept land,
We sprinted and lay down for cover,
As if on this hill all our journeys and fates
Were melded at once with each other.

Our shouts of Hooray soon were freezing on lips
When there was a bullet to swallow.
We made to the top seven times, seven trips.
But seven retreats also followed.

Another attack is not welcomed by troops.
The earth now reminds of burnt porridge.
The eighth time we’ll take it for certain, for good.
Take back what’s our native, not foreign!

Or maybe we should walk around this damn hill?
What caused this unhealthy attachment?!
It looks like this height is now destined to be
The crossroads of paths we imagined.

And all our communities, cities, and scenes
With this single height were united.
The same height on which at that time, as it seems,
Our future and fates were decided.