Back Pocket Book Entry 16


And what else is it

that fertilizes this land

besides death

and defecation, oh kulaks?

 

How is it that those

of a certain faith

 

know when to pray

 

without a Call

being sent out,

without being heard

on the grass and

the soil?

 

Night, day and war

broken in pieces

 

to kneel

But oh kulaks,

only the earth-

and even that

was collected

for the state

to own

 

And yet,

somewhere besides

the peaches

and fallen Cossacks

 

there were poems.

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