Why is everything wrong? Looks like nothing has changed: Vault of heaven, again, the same azure, The same wood, the same air, the same water, again, Only he isnít back - killed in action. Now itís late to decide whose account was more sound In our wrangles void of bedtime and leisure. I have only begun to feel need of him now That he hasnít returned, killed in action. He sang songs out of tune, he kept mute out of place, Speaking far from the point was his fashion, He was up with the birds, he disrupted my rest, And, the other day, was killed in action. It is needless to say Iím like empty within Weíre a duo, it suddenly flashes. Itís for me like a fire blown out by the wind, Now that he isnít back, killed in action. Free, as if out of jail, Spring is raging around. I turn round to him by distraction: "Brother, give me a smoke", in response not a sound, He, the other day, was killed in action. In a mess, killed in action will never desert us, Our fallen will always stand ground. Wild blue yonder is mirrored in woods, like in water, And cerulean trees stand around. In a blindage, thereís been room enough for the two, For the two, timeís been evenly measured. All is left but to one. Only there is a mood It is me whoís not back, killed in action.
© Vyacheslav Chetin. Translation, 2009