The Secret Of Secrets Is Inside Me

The Secret Of Secrets Is Inside Me Again.

In The Terrible Years Of The Yezhov Terror I Spent Seventeen Months Waiting In Line Outside The Prison In Leningrad. One Day Somebody In The Crowd Identified Me . . . And Asked Me In A Whisper . . . "can You Describe This?" And I Said: "i Can."

There Is A Sacred, Secret Line In Loving Which Attraction And Even Passion Cannot Cross.

Poems Are My Link With The Times, With The New Life Of My People.

If You Were Music I Would Listen To You Ceaselessly And My Low Spirits Would Brighten Up.