I do not know where your grave is.
And yet I bring you flowers.

I do not know.
And yet I come to see you.

I do not know.
And yet I weep at your death.

Where are you?  Where did they bury you?
I do not know where your grave is.
And yet I bring you flowers.

In my heart there are pieces of torn
memories; in my eyes, the salt
of your tears; in my hands
I can feel the warmth of your
fingers.

Now I touch your blood.

I do not know where your grave is.
And yet I bring you flowers.
 

                                         September 28, 1987
                                      --Alexander Shaumyan