The Art of Marxism: poetry
Night and snow on the window-panes.
The rails gleam in the white night
reminding you of going
and never coming back.
In the third-class waiting room
a woman is lying,
her feet bare,
a black kerchief round her head.
I walk up and down.
Night and snow on the window-panes.
Inside some people are singing -
a song my comrade loved
so much.
His favourite song,
his favourite,
his-
Comrades, do not look into my eyes,
I am trying not to weep.
In the white night the rails gleam,
reminding you of going
and never coming back.
A woman in a black kerchief
is lying
in the third-class
waiting-room,
her feel bare.
Night and snow on the window-panes.
Somewhere inside they are singing.