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Silence


We are wolves,
than dogs are few, the crackle of rifles

time has decimated

quietly as in an execution, we fell to the ground, but we
survivors, although we have put
the announcement. We
wolves. We
few.
not got almost no one.
Wolves and dogs, we are children of the same mother, but we
we never gave up.
You have arisen in a bowl full of leftovers, we
hunger on a frozen ground.
and snow, and trails
under a placid night sky.
In the chill of January,
while you are welcomed into the house,
we are surrounded by darkness.
you peek through a crack in the door,
we fight in the forest.
Even once you had, you were wolves,
but you lost the courage for the road.
You were gray, and bold
,
but have you fed the leftovers,
who have enslaved. There
prostrate and servile flattery
do for a crust of bread, but
the collar and leash
are the price to be paid, and well there is!
tremble even in your cages
As we go on the hunt!
Because you know, more than any bear, wolves
us,
hate dogs.

Chechen Poetry of the Soviet era, from the book "The boy from the heart of a wolf" by A. Seierstad, ed. Rizzoli, which, as it did before the friend I advise you Leena. Today has a post po'particolare by Leena Lander .