The listeners, engrossed, swim with the tide,

The echoing of terror in their ears.

The ‘Stalin’ scherzo shudders to a halt,

As fast as its great surge of sound begins.

It seems to fall and plunge down a ravine

And disappears, with one last act of will,

To ignominy and oblivion,

Inside the padlocked box of history.

All this took place in nineteen fifty-three:

The Coronation, Everest conquered,

The comfort zone of a tyrant’s passing.

Alas, history’s box will not stay closed;

Dictators have a way of coming back.

The music, like us, will never be safe.