Short Steppe Poems

RUSSIA


Moose crossing the frozen Yenesei
Thawing lake and lonely level forest
Bear picking a summer berry   
Gold dome over  the autumn steppe  at rest
A flaming torch in the setting west...

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Since I climbed up this hill
I see past the sea or a steppe:
a great fire! burning the leftovers
of grease and filth
that created this scorched earth;

I can only pray
it spreads over here too.
...

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Blue Wolf...
A free people, like the wind they blow,
A generous steppe, a wondrous folk.
Today, like a young wolf, they whimper,
Suffering under the world's yoke.

The cruel century has surely made the people weep,
Casting fear.
It has taken away their strength and might,
Their spirit crushed, crumbled like flour,
You have departed, my dear land, lost to time!...

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Forbidden, sacred sight!
Potala gleaming white
Reflecting Asian light;  
A shrine of mystic might.

The monks conspire inside
Old Lhasa’s palaced pride,
With mummies spiced and dried,
Reviving priests who’ve died.

Tibetian spirits raise
And cast resentful rays
Through memory’s thick haze;
Avengers from old days.

They float across the air,
Descending when and where
The unbelievers dare
Not worship them, nor care....

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I'm nothing else
that an intermediary
between healing and disillusionment...
I am unwritten verse
when I'm not understood...
I'm a steppe wolf howl
when I provoke strangeness...
I just wanted to be a simple door
that offers passage,
Window that shows landscapes...
I wanted to be answers
to all dreams
and daydreams, raptures
of ecstasy...
love and passion for
who needs,
however, I'm just
a bitter-sweet being
not blissful,
not overly sad,
I am only, Poet... !...

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