We clung to the heights, though they were our life And the mortar-fire rang out in squalls But we thronged the heights, ever higher we climbed As if raiding a full pantry hall.         Our mouths, blanched with fear, could not utter "Hurrah", When we swallowed enemy lights Seven times we commanded these sacred heights Seven more we abandoned our rights.         Why donít we sidestep these sacred heights? What clings us to them, oh so tight? The hours of our lives, the ways of our fates Have crossed and bled here every night.        
© Arkady Yanishevsky. Translation, 2008