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May 09, 2005
The Bears have left
Russia is always white, and
Deserted in my dreams, with square
People, in long fur coats and hats, with
layers of scarfs, crowded in their brown and grey
presence, corrupting the scenery, loud with their Jagged
Alphabets, crooked words, mixed with their damp
Smokey breathe, tinged with hints of over-
Cooked sausages and Vodka, talking with
their vision limited in woolen covers,
and the severity of sarrow in their
voice, that tears in their cold
Glassy eyes.
Living in crowded cubicals
With angular chairs and tables,
Rounded old refrigrators, and the odore
Of close living that veils over the walls
and the air, -Rugs worn to their threads, their
last remainder of any colors grayed and soiled,
Covering the cold sement, with pictures of Lenin,
And other fathers of a bastard revolution hanging
on the walls.
The Bears have left long time ago,
(Migrating to the warmth of finish shores
And quiet Polar woods, where life still pulses)
When the last Tzars were abdicated, replaced
By balding short men in Grey suites, and narrow ties
Leaving the white scenery still Majestic and bare.
Posted by Idinraha at May 9, 2005 04:20 PM