It Was A Time When Only The

During The Terrible Years Of The Yekhov Terror I Spent Seventeen Months In The Prison Queues In Leningrad. One Day Someone ‘identified’ Me. Then A Woman With Lips Blue With Cold Who Was Standing Behind Me, And Of Course Had Never Heard Of My Name, Came Out Of The Numbness Which Affected Us All And Whispered In My Ear—(we All Spoke In Whispers There): ‘could You Describe This?’ I Said, ‘i Can!’ Then Something Resembling A Smile Slipped Over What Had Once Been Her Face.

This Cruel Age Has Deflected Me, Like A River From This Course. Strayed From Its Familiar Shores, My Changeling Life Has Flowed Into A Sister Channel. How Many Spectacles I've Missed: The Curtain Rising Without Me, And Falling Too. How Many Friends I Never Had The Chance To Meet.

The Triumphs Of A Mysterious Non-meeting Are Desolate Ones; Unspoken Phrases, Silent Words.

Now No One Will Listen To Songs. The Prophesied Days Have Begun. Latest Poem Of Mine, The World Has Lost Its Wonder, Don't Break My Heart, Don't Ring Out.

I Know Beginnings, I Know Endings Too, And Life-in-death, And Something Else I'd Rather Not Recall Just Now.