Angina Pectoris

If half my heart is here, doctor,

      the other half is in China

with the army flowing

    toward the Yellow River.

And, every morning, doctor,

every morning at sunrise my heart

    is shot in Greece.

And every night, doctor,

when the prisoners are asleep and the infirmary is deserted,

my heart stops at a run-down old house

                                      in Istanbul.

And then after ten years

all i have to offer my poor people

is this apple in my hand, doctor,

one red apple:

              my heart.

And that, doctor, that is the reason

for this angina pectoris—

not nicotine, prison, or arteriosclerosis.

I look at the night through the bars,

and despite the weight on my chest

my heart still beats with the most distant stars.