A bloody trail meanders on the snow.
Someone has dug themselves, headfirst, into the snow.
What does he care about life and glory,
This individual slowly freezing in the snow.
Yet, unnoted in any report,
Having gone missing in ‘41,
In a raggedy overcoat and leg-wraps,
He still crawls in the night.
Dead, however knowing no peace,
He continues to crawl without direction,
The unburied Russian soldier,
Who never did hear the invaders repulsed.
Here he crawls before the dawn,
With dark, bottomless eye sockets,
He glances and demands an answer:
“The war, how did it end?”
-Aleksei Kafanov (Translated by me)
Mikhailych's Weblog 