«It is your lynx eyes, Asia, / That spied something in me, / Teased it out, occult / And born of stillness, / Oppessive and difficult / Like the noon heat in Termez. / As though pre-memory’s years / Flowed like lava into the mind... / As if I were drinking my own tears / From a st...»
«The fifth act of the drama / Blows in the wind of autumn, / Each flower-bed in the park seems / A fresh grave, we have finished / The funeral-feast, and there’s nothing / To do. Why then do I linger / As if I am expecting / A miracle? It’s the way a feeble / Hand can hold fast to...»
«Thirty years now Russia’s lived in fetters, / in Magadan, in Kolyma — / but the Russia that will live for ever / is the one now dying in Kolyma.»
«Not the lyre of a lover / I’ll carry through my land / The rattle of a leper / Will sing in my hand.»