R U S S I A N T R I L O GY

 

 

READING AKHMATOVA

obsidian clouds

…..cloak starless sky

 

seeking my muse

sitting on my

darkened patio

she’ll probably speak

some obscure dialect

from an isolated

steppe landscaped

russian village

 

 

CHERNOBYL

Your name noble city

…translates as mugwort

dried & dispelling moths

from home & garden

where once corn pollen

scattered & danced

into Ukrainian winds

haunting my name

radiated blood of

your ancestors surge

through my veins

in vain clouds

drizzle upon

forsaken earth

but will the mugwort

rise again amongst the ruins

 

 

WANDERING STEPPES

When I die

When they sort

Through my possessions

Through my poems

Tossed into recycle bins

Tossed into Siberian soil

Will my soul

Will itself

To come forth

To round again

+++

 

 

Terrence Sykes

 

 


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