The Arctic wind impales us without halt <br />and in our wounds the devil himself leers. <br />The star above the gulag burns like salt <br />until we lose all track of months and years. <br /> <br />And yet we sigh again the wry insult <br />we let slip into comrade Stalin’s ears. <br />We sigh until we sigh it by default <br />and wrinkles are the riverbeds of tears.<br /><br />Leo Yankevich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/red-star-1933/
