Singling Out

The whisper you hear
Behind one's own back,
A tiniest smear
Or trying to break?
You're singled all of a sudden,
Among swarming mob,
Completely befuddled
And weak at a drop?
The 'bесk' is the stranger's,
The 'call', maybe, yours?
The Fate so arranges,
That constant is war.

by Lev Brekhman

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