Bullfight

Gawk enthusiastic screams Met a loaded bull. In his eyes, large and wild, There was deep melancholy. Darts of resentment were shaking. He waited a long time for the enemy,
He ran to the bright mantles And thrust the horns into the void. I did not understand - who blew
Deserts hot sand, Did not know the game of high rules for what the bulls grow.
But neither to the left, nor to the right. His way is short. Gawks repeated "bravo"
And they were waiting for a new bull. I will not forget the tread of the bull, Running straight at me,
Ferocity, the sun and the majesty of the Dry, stone day. Ilya Ehrenburg, 1938