.     V I L E
               V
                I         L
                L E V I
                          V
                          E
                        I S R E A L
                       N           L
                                  A L O N E
                                              O
                                              O
                                        H   N
                                     L I K E S
                                        M

A bandit’s just a brute at best.
A politician, sharp and sly,
Is like a purulent abscess,
Destroying roots as others die.

A fool alone could place their trust
In tyrants posing as the wise,
Who open doors to lies unjust,
And welcome butchers in disguise.


In Russian:

Сравнение двух видов преступности

Бандит — обычный недоумок.
Страшней политик — он умней:
Преступности даёт он в сумме
Гораздо больше, гробя пней.

Лишь пень убогий может верить
Фашистам в облике вождей,
Их лжи открывши настежь двери,
Впуская позже палачей.

CHEVAL Á BASCULE EN FEU

she keeps
the room
just as it was

as if
Death
had never entered it

still
turns
teiderdown down

still
straightens
sheets

still
plumbs
pillows

brings breakfast
every morning
just like before

but
there is no before
anymore

even
the future
has vanished

one day
it hurts her
this haunting

the room has become
a shrine
and she its priestess

so she decides
to burn the past
escape this trap

the wind
turns the pages
as the books flame

dolls
melt
in the witch hunt

a rocking horse
is on fire
its mane a flame

"Go now!"
she commands
"These are only things!"

she hides
her daughter
in her heart

where nothing
can touch her.
fire reflected in her tears

*

She hunted down all the dolls and they were all burnt at the stake so to speak. Two reactions to grief in the one person...preserve everything...destroy everything.