Russia, Russia Fragments
Yoysef Kerler
1990
Oh, Father of great mercy
In sunset’s flame there fades
My cradle land
That was once nearer to me than my salt-crusted shirt
Where with my brother Russian
I shared more than once
A measly bite of bread,
A last breath
At the brink of death.
And now I stand helpless
And all my song’s stanzas lament:
You may turn me into
A dead pillar of salt—
I…
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