I see your noble face behind barbed wire,
looking out at endless taiga, greeted
only by cold. The laughter of the liar
who put you there is still loud in your ears,
although in far-off Moscow now—he’s seated,
the hooked-nosed slayer of the highborn rich,
sadist and defiler of Slavic daughters,
egalitarian savant and snitch.
Who do you think will recall the martyrs,
the frightened faces and the countless tears,
the forgotten dead of Russia and Ukraine?
Who will write the history of their pain?
“You who live and hear,” your voice falters,
still so frightened after all these years.
From Leo Yankevich, Tikkun Olam and Other Poems
Mihai Eminescu: Romania’s Morning Star
Requiem for a Jigger
The Worst Week Yet: March 21-27, 2021
Thwarting Jewish Conquest: Solzhenitsyn’s Two Hundred Years Together Part 6 of 6
America’s Morass in the Middle East
The Bloody Red Pill: Solzhenitsyn’s Two Hundred Years Together, Part 5
The Russian Civil War: Solzhenitsyn’s Two Hundred Years Together, Part 4
Adam Curtis’ Can’t Get You Out of My Head