The golden wheat of the Ukraine
rots in a packed-to-the-brim silo.
Nearby, a Chekist bashes the brain
of a Kulak, as in a sideshow
historians agree to forget.
Tomorrow his gaunt wife will feed
her drumstick children acacia flowers
or sparrows crushed beneath her feet.
The following day she'll beg the powers-
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem