Darling Yevgenii by Frieda Levinsky You were talking to me. I who understand little of Your Russian mother tongue. But in the maze, I could hear Your telling me who I am. A little girl who never really Understood where I was Or why. What danger did I pose to someone, not you, Of course, small enough Not recall the names of the Villages of your vast land. Your relatives kept me in Captivity as a hostage. I was no evil doer. I was No mighty army with Tanks, planes and ships. Darling Yevgenii, maybe You wanted to help me But you did not know how. Tell me the unvarnished Truth; from it I will try To make sense of this Tragic story, this torture About whom you cried At Babi Yar along with My tiny people whom Stalin treated harshly As harshly as he treated His own kin whom he Murdered in cold blood. Who will repay me for my Pain and those whom he Dragged like a torn babushka In the streets for all to see? You are the poet, I am now Your colleague thousands Of miles from you where You spoke about Ann Frank Who was tragically betrayed And hauled to Auschwitz. My darling, at least you Shed tears for her, the Youngster who like a spring Bud vanished with only Her story written in diary As she hoped to become A writer, to leave no falsity Reversed, no fiction changed Into fact as her last drop Of blood bred the truth. You are my testament, Dear Evgenii. You recall My pain, you remember The hundred thousand Of my kin without any Tears being shed by any One except you. You are The Jeremiah who shouted Out loudly at the footprints Of Baby Yar, at the steps Of the monument, at the Echoes of the yesteryears, At the pages of your poetry. No one can erase us, you The genius and I your speck, Your molecule, dear Evgenii. Copyright © 2008 Frieda L. Levinsky Frieda Levinsky has been writing poetry for more than three decades. She gets inspired by certain events on her paths. She often returns to some of her fifty hardbound Harvard Classics for inspiration. Sometimes, looking at art inspires her to write. Once she wrote how Rembrandt, Chagall and Cezane would feel dusting her living room furniture or the books about them simply sitting on her marble table and collecting dust with only her examining their artistry in the serenity of her humble abode. Frieda Levinsky's book of poetry, Enlightened Ambiance, can be purchased from Xlibris books.