Babel
Considering the homophone Of your name it’s ironic that You were charged with silence “the sin of Soviet unproductivity” The punishment for which Was everlasting silence They broke your glasses As if out of mercy so that You wouldn’t have to watch them Burn your manuscripts In truth they broke your glasses Because they were a sign of your class Helpless and blind you pleaded For them to let you finish your work Thinking this wording might Appeal to them The idea that you were nothing More than a worker As if a writer at his desk is no different From a man laying cobblestones As if you can’t pick up a word Like a brick and hurl it at the state You said it yourself when you said No iron spike can pierce A human heart as icily as A period in the right place.