“Oh, let those cranes move on in their sorrow...” Eva Maria Hagen sings in Biermann's translation of a Jessenin poem; lightly, yet infinitely plaintive. But in the last room of Kiev's Museum of the Great Patriotic War there are cranes that don't move on. They stay in an endless funeral procession flight over the ready-laid wooden table, built on bullet casings; they stay over these 27 metres of table – one metre for each million of dead. Tied from military canvas on the one, and colourful women's headscarves on the other side they soar, reminding of the dead and surviving, in a long procession over the table. Before the dead's eyes, 6000 faces, the fallen and surviving are called to table. It is laid with battered dishes of fallen soldiers and a row of glasses for the remembering. Thus, one sits in front of official notifications of death, many “ruschnik” - the traditional embroidered Ukrainian bridal and funeral cloths.

And the sorrow does not move on. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.