Siberian Vespers
A blinding wind rescinds my vision of the tundra’s rich ruins
White-dark obstructing the dark-white frigid dunes
Gloves numbly clutching shovel dumbly
Lunging for ore or foreign money
Turnipbottom dirtpale the truest shade
In Siberian vespers all colors fade
But each double parka’d sweatdrop bleeds a Bombay summer
Tickling, trickling south like my fantasy sojourn
Each snowflake calls to mind a pachyderm, a
Moment fleeting, dying on terra firma
Siberia may not be fain to offer freedom
But India will remain my spirit’s Eden
Copyright © Michael Lerman | Year Posted 2008
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