This is a poem written by a Russian (Soviet) soldier during World War II, right before Soviet Union launched a defensive counter attack against Hitler’s army. It had such an impact on me that I had to translate it.
To my friend who is writhing in agony –
Don’t call out to those you had loved,
Instead, listen, let me warm my hands a bit
On hot steam rising up from your blood.
You aren’t wounded, don’t moan, you are not a kid;
You’ve been killed, there is no going back.
Let me keep instead the warm boots off your feet –
We both know I still have to attack.