Wild grasses rustle over Babi Yar,
The trees look sternly, as if passing judgement.
Here, silently, all screams, and, hat in hand,
I feel my hair changing shade to gray.
And I myself, like one long soundless scream
Above the thousands of thousands interred,
I’m every old man executed here,
As I am every child murdered here.
From Babi Yar, Yevgeny Yevtushenko
[Another:] You take my son from me, it is not he does the wrong; kill me then, do not kill my son! My breasts without milk, my eyes wet, my hands shaking, my body without mettle, my husband without a son, myself without strength, my life is but death! O God, my only son, my journey without reward, my labour without birth, unrevenged until Doomsday. My breasts are stilled, my heart is bowed down.
[Another:] You seek one to kill, you kill many; you strike down the babies, you wound the fathers, you kill the mothers. You have filled hell, you have shut heaven, you have spilt the blood of the righteous without a cause.
[Another:] Come to me, Christ! Take my life quickly along with my son. O great Mary, Mother of God’s Son, what shall I do without a son? On account of your son my sense and mind have been killed; I have been made a mad woman after my son. My heart is a clot of blood after the tragic slaughter from today till the judgment comes.