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Letter to the editor / 19 December 2006 | 10:54
Poem in memory to the FamineDear Editor, 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. Thank you,…………………..bohdan ------------------------------------------------- "The Harvest of Souls" by Bohdan Yuri 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 from Ukraine. All the foreigners who came to Moscow said, “Famine in Ukraine? Impossible! Just look at all the fine foods to eat in our restaurants." But the world knew not of the devil in Moscow and his vile plan. 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, the peasants, And the farmers, whose land was now not theirs, not even their chairs. Beyond ten million killed the numbers begin to wonder, maybe more. "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, ordered prone; And what need to embellish hate, when evil commands at every stage. 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.
Comments
Haryk-Bukovynsky (23:33 | 28 December,2006)
God bless you, Bohdan Yuri, for your spirit and the art of poetry.
KOZAK (15:51 | 17 January,2007)
!!!
Slusarenko (08:00 | 10 February,2007)
My thanks to you Bohdan Yuri! Our family survived by eating birds, frogs, and grain from the field - picked up at night under the cover of darkness... Grandma had a Russian gun in her face twice - so, there is such a thing as a good Russian... but they still made her scatter the wheat again... Dad used to spear sugar beets out of the back of the transport trucks at the risk of death... That's the big Russian thanks for my Grandfather, decorated war hero Captain Slusarenko in the 1st world war.
Richard (23:52 | 16 March,2007)
Well-written, Sir.
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