"On the first night they get closer.
They pluck a flower from our garden
and we say nothing

On the second night they no longer hide.
They trample the flowers, kill our dog
and we say nothing

Until the day when the frailest of them all
enters our hous ealone, steals our moon,
and knowing of our fear,

Tears our voice out of our throat,
and because we did not say anything,
we can no longer say anything."

Vladimir Mayakovsky

Back to Selected Readings

Home