g emil reutter
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Shevchenko Stirs in His Grave
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The bear continues to paw away at lines as the eagle
circles above never landing. The blue shield bends, but holds
as the world watches.
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Shevchenko stirs in his grave
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An angry little man who loves his mirror struts about Moscow
spews lies, hungers for the empire that shattered decades ago.
A little man in search of little Russia plays with soldiers as if they
are toys, each die in the name of his ego.
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Shevchenko stirs in his grave
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Crimea whimpers under the paw of the bear as the little man
dances, tanks pass through the old square. He ignores mothers
of Ukraine and Russia weeping for loved ones lost. He catches
his reflection, admires himself, puffs out his chest, wants
to be taller.
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Shevchenko stirs in his grave
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White Gyrfalcon ascends the blue gray skies of Ukraine, gold
trident pointed east, freedom the cause.
.
Shevchenko stirs in his grave
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Taras Shevchenko is the national poet of Ukraine.
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It’s Happened Before
The Holodomor: A Genuine Genocide
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North of Oxford 