Poem By Czarina Matviyko
Inspired by Polinskie's 'The Pianist'
He stands alone upon the streets
pulling horrid deadly feats.
If a straggler dares to pass,
whether boy or man or lass
he gets a bullet through his head
and leaves behind an empty bed.
After five they're all inside,
making room so all can hide.
When he finds him hiding there
no good is there for one to fare.
Good old Henrick could not stand,
his wheelchair only moves by hand.
Out the balcony he went,
down three stories torn and rent.
Mrs. Walters tried to run,
in her arms she holds her son.
By Banker Street it's far too late,
how close she was to wondrous fate.
Morning, morning, day by day
the bodies burn and rot away.
A brilliant mind without a souls,
a single solitary goal;
to wipe them off the face of Earth
to give a newer country birth.