The Art of Marxism: poetry
I kneel down: I look at the earth,
little stems blooming with blues.
You are like the spring earth, my love,
I'm looking at you.
I lie on my back: I see the sky,
the branches of a tree,
storks on the wing,
a waking dream.
You are like the spring sky, my love,
I see you.
At night I light a campfire: I touch fire,
You are like a fire lit beneath the stars,
I touch you.
I go among people: I love people,
You are one person in my struggle,
I love you.