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.