The Journalist and His Companion


by Boris Scherbakov

 

I want a companion to roam the world with me,

Hand in hand we’ll conquer each city,

And drift into trances at dawn, only

To wake up at dusk in the country.

 

A few kisses here and there, as you hand

Me the camera that will capture the world:

Children starving, a mother’s crying,

Earth stolen, barons lying.

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