I have been wounded so often and so painfully, <br />dragging my way home at the merest crawl, <br />impaled not only by malicious tongues- <br />one can be wounded even by a petal. <br /> <br />And I myself have wounded-quite unwittingly- <br />with casual tenderness while passing by, <br />and later someone felt the pain, <br />it was like walking barefoot over the ice. <br /> <br />So why do I step upon the ruins <br />of those most near and dear to me, <br />I, who can be so simply and so sharply wounded <br />and can wound others with such deadly ease? <br /> <br /> <br />1973 <br />Translated by Arthur Boyars and Simon Franklin<br /><br />Yevgeny Yevtushenko<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wounds-6/
