I realize that the commemorative period for the Famine has passed but perhaps you might still consider publishing this poem in memory to that tragedy.
"The Harvest of Souls"
There was a harvest in 1933, an abundant bounty for
all to see.
Farmers gathered strains of golden grain fed by black
soil and rain,
The fare was loaded onto trains that carried stores
All the foreigners who came to Moscow said, “Famine in
Impossible! Just look at all the fine foods to eat in
But the world knew not of the devil in Moscow and his
This demon, an afflicter of torture and pain, whose
plates were served
With the finest cuts of the finest flesh, ruled an
empire of Soviet greed.
Gifted was he in the torture of souls, versed as
playwright of human sorrow.
Can anyone count them all: the scholars, the clergy,
And the farmers, whose land was now not theirs, not
even their chairs.
Beyond ten million killed the numbers begin to wonder,
"Seal the borders so no one knows, we are on our
glorious killing spree."
Uncover the graves, if you can find them; count the
bodies if you dare:
25,000 per day, 1,000 per hour, 17 every second,
starving on this cause,
"All the foods are supposed to be exported outside the
borders of Ukraine.
Let them eat the leaves on any trees, but our aim is
still to exterminate
And if any children steal a fallen kernel or two, the
order is, shoot to kill."
"Have you got any bodies?" the crier would say to
doors not easy to sway,
"And feed the horses late at night so no one else will
steal their fodder.
In these times a horse is worth the bother, who else
to pull the carts
That carry the litter off these streets and into pit
graves outside of town.
Who cares if some are still alive, bury their souls
anyway, and out of our sight,
The living will not have the belly to put up a fight,
just look at their eyes."
So the devil had decreed that Ukraine’s stalwart
spirits should be erased,
And his disciples were delighted to act out roles in
the director’s cruel play.
It was pure Russian theater played in real parts,
those aforementioned eyes,
How hollow to start, barely a role played to perform,
when the actors
Are sewn in costumes made from bones, a lifeless role,
And what need to embellish hate, when evil commands at
An absence of sympathy when death is your shadow in
this sad parade;
How else to explain the murderers as they performed
their cruel and evil charade.
“And have you heard the stories of babies arriving on
trains from Ukraine?"
Not true, said the New York Times to a faraway place,
no need to debate.
And so, was staged for the world to be inclined as was
the need to betray
Those families that died, and the hammer and sickle
reaped shadows at dawn.
1933 was a bountiful, cruel harvest of human flesh and
the soul of a great land.
It allowed the devil to convey, to all his disciples
that conducted this play,
“A job well done, and next year we’ll feed them again,
as our slaves once more.
And those that continue to voice free thoughts, well,
there’s always a place
To send them away; that they may die in the harshness
of our cold camps."
And those bodies were loaded onto trains that carried
the souls out of Ukraine.
Those who lived it want to forget it, but they can’t.
The images burn the heart.
Those that caused it won’t admit it, because they fear
the Judgment Day.
Спасибо за Вашу активность, Ваш вопрос будет рассмотрен модераторами в ближайшее время