Mikhail Svetlov
Two

Beside their big fire they had laid themselves down,
Their powerless bodies prostrate.
A bullet had gone through the temple of one
To home in the head of his mate.

The hands of the two had locked in a vice
The now dead machine gun they’d manned,
And neither the storm nor the snow-turned-to-ice
Could break the resolve of those hands.

An officer stumbled upon the bleak pair,
He tugged at them, callously harsh.
A glance-to see how the weapon had fared,
To bid them surrender their charge.

But strange, the dead faces were not at all awed,
A joy from within them shone through...
The third of a sudden went cold when he saw
The hair-raising bliss of the two.

Translated by Lidia Kmetyuk