It burns and scorches, the midday heat,

All life here has died. In slumbering peace

The earth lies mute, guarding its secret.

Not a sound, save the occasional whirlwind.

A column of fire, rushing over the field,

Rises heavenward and vanishes like smoke.

Severe and stern the infinite sky:

It’s empty, the gods have all died

And are now deaf to the suffering of men.

The earth’s parched: no dew, no rain.

Our fertile fields, vast like the sea,

Whose bounty once brought comfort,

Fill our hearts with joy no more.

Death stalks the land, bringing with it endless sorrow.

—A. GELEZHE, BUGURUSLAN, RUSSIA, 1922

Trying to kill people may sound more exciting than trying to keep them alive, but don’t you ever believe it’s so.

—GEORGE McCLINTOCK, AMERICAN RELIEF ADMINISTRATION, SAMARA, RUSSIA, 1922