Basra Tablet

And we who have nothing, set this down that we might not be forgotten,
Driven now to this blasted place, between East and West,
Driven from fair Constnatinople, over sands, hot and cold,
Fleeing streets slick with blood, curse them!
Curse them, we would they would return unto Kiev.
We cannot return, for to do so would be to clamber over the bones of our dead,
And that we cannot do.
The face of the All-Father is turned from us,
Shrouded in masks of dire aspect.
And so we set this down,
We who have nothing
That we might not be forgotten.
~ Trans.