No crosses on graves

There no wooden crosses
On mass holy graves.
No widows who are heavily crying.
The flower which glosses
On that solemn place,
In fire of live that is flying.

The earth in the past
Was dug into dust.
Today there are huge marble ranges.
And no single soul
Remember! You must!
Those souls which in one there merges.

In fire you see an old burning tank.
And burning homesite in a fire.
Smolensk and Reichstag,
And hearts in a rank
Of soldiers who fought with desire!

There no crying widows on those holy graves,
There people who stronger and stout.
And no marble crosses on that solemn place,
But under the dead nameless crowd !