Don’t return: the KGB is back

by Elena Fanailova
translated by Genya Turovskaya

Don’t return: the KGB is back
And parodies of the stagnation.
Don’t think of me
I am an empty soul
A receptacle of filth, a prison cell of fire
Like a tree in a storm
Like the furnace for Lazo

Like a clay vessel
In a blind potter’s hands
I am my own supreme judge and executioner,
Who never misses, fires from the hip

But why did I begin?

Why this rough sketch etched into the ground
And this thought so heavy on my brow,
When the whole world lies in darkness
And your love churns up in me
A ton of darkness?
And there’s no one I can tell
And I have to mind my business.

And where once stood a table of posthumous delights,
A table stands no more.