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Russian Poetry
Pushkin recalls “the wondrous moment”
When she arrived into his life.
He writes “As though a brief and fleeting omen.”
“Pure phantom in enchanting light.”
How divine can a moment be
When it lasts for 1,000 years?
How ephemeral can 1,000 years be
When it arrives then disappears?
The grey life you lead is yours alone
Until one “1,000 years” moment takes it all away
Then the air you breathe is their home
And your grey life feels like Monet everyday.
If I am to be known by a poet
Then I long to be his muse.
Our fleeting seconds are worth a million sonnets.
A million seconds aren’t mine to lose.
Leave me be
As I wait under my ashoka tree.
Leave me be
As I read my Russian poetry.
Osip describes his love through art;
The sun that warmed his soul.
He writes “The flame that burns within my heart.”
“And makes me whole.”
How forlorn it should be
To spend eternity with the abyss.
And how elated I would be
To find that he is waiting for the eclipse.
I, the sun, stroll alone in the sky
Until I eclipse with my Moon
We dance until all of the stars collide
The sky becomes black as we swoon
If I am to be known by a poet
Then I long to be his muse.
Our fleeting seconds are worth a million sonnets.
A million seconds aren’t mine to lose.
Leave me be
As I wait under my ashoka tree.
Leave me be
As I read my Russian poetry.
If I am to be known by a poet
Then I long to be his muse.
Our fleeting seconds are worth a million sonnets.
A millions seconds are mine to choose
So leave me be
As I wait under my ashoka tree.
Oh, leave me be
As I read my Russian poetry.
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