“Only in Russia is poetry respected; it gets people killed.”
-Osip Mandelstam
His soul was a poem; upon it he wrote Of hope for Russia’s peoples frozen in pain A poem of stern rebuke to Rolex tyrants Who censored him with beatings, poison, and death
He spoke He died Because he spoke he died Because he spoke the truth he died
They left his unfinished poem upon the ice His soul was a poem – we must complete his verse