Bulat Okudzhava
An Old Soldiers` Song

The marching song is over and the battle – fought.
And the hoofs no longer make a sound.
Bullets made a strainer out of our old pot.
A sutler girl is lying on the ground.

We are hurting, and the enemy is hurt.
And we both are too few to count.
When we are alive, we all are frontline dirt.
When we die, we all are heavenbound.

Hands are on the weapon, and the heart is sad,
And the soul’s already in the air.
Why do we keep writing blood words on the sand?
For our letters, Nature doesn’t care.

Sleep in peace, my brothers! Everything will die:
New commanders will give out the orders.
(New) soldiers will be born in time to occupy
Their eternal military quarters.

Don’t you worry, brothers, all will come again,
For in Nature, everything repeats:
Empty words and bullets, love, and war, and pain.
But we’ll never find the time for peace.

Translated by Vadim Astrakhan