A red storm... Cries and weeping
pierce the bloody thick mornings.
I stand in my grieving Ukraine
crucified by Moscow on an honest cross.
Everywhere, graves, graves, graves
in the graves lies my unfortunate country
O holy fate, give me strength
that I may speak the yet unsaid.
The fiery word seizes the heart,
because we fall and perish in cruel prisons.
There is no escape, none, none,
alone, we cannot get out of hell...
Great Famine in Ukraine 1932-33, p129