A guy was sent from East Germany to work in Siberia.
He knew his mail would be read by censors, so he told his friends,
Lets establish a code.
If the letter you get from me is written in blue ink,
it is true what I say,
if it is written in red ink,
it is false.
After a month his friends got the first letter.
It says, this letter: Everything is wonderful here,
Stores are full of good food,
Movie theaters show good films from the west,
Apartments are large and luxurious but,
The only thing you can not buy is,
This is how we live.
We have all the freedoms we want,
But what we are missing is red ink -
- the language to articulate our non-freedom.
So then I was moved.
The pink and yellow bundle in the mothers arms,
-cut from cold, barren concrete
wind howling, lamp flickering-
Three figures pushing through the city snow,
Husband and Wife and finally mother,
United in Seoul.
Frost on every breath,
A tight escape.
Soup will beckon around the table because,
Mother knows the pain of birth.
The raft did not fail this time and she came in a,
Happy to learn the new ways,
Of feeding children soup.
evocative short poetry – words move