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?
© Jane Shevtsov. Translation, 2012