Blood
David Khait
1928
The train pulls up to the platform, steaming and boiling like a samovar.
Lazar is standing on the platform—short, glowing, joyful—waving his dirty handkerchief at the cars.
The train is on its way to Moscow. On the platform is the usual train station commotion, the ringing, pushing, and smell of coal and sand. Lazar and Ruth are running past the…
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Good Night, World
Good night, wide world.
Big, stinking world.
Not you, but I, slam the gate.
In my long robe,
With my flaming, yellow patch,
With my proud gait,
At my own command—
I return to the ghetto.
Wipe out…
Still, Still
Still, still, let us be still.
Graves grow here.
Planted by the enemy,
they blossom to the sky.
All the roads lead to Ponar,
and none returns.
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