Let me, tell you a story
It’s not my own
But it has changed me
Stayed with me for years
Imagine cold, darkness and snow
Imagine work and death,
It’s XX-century, Siberia, Russia
Yes, it’s this kind of a story
But it’s not only about death
There is also love and friendship
But no happy ending, not in this world
This different, strange world
A Man betrayed by his own country
Who believed in holy ideas
Who wanted to cure the West
Only to be taken from his mother as a traitor
He had this strange relationship
With French books
He loved them and despised them
Those little glimpses of freedom
Yet, he loved his country
Believed in big ideas
He never expected that his little glimpses
Will lead him behind the bars
And our narrator,
He didn’t believe in such ideas
Instead he seemed to just be forgotten
By his country, people, God
The Man finds a way of surviving
By putting his hand into a fire
Like a sword a smith wants to forge
Our narrator becomes a witness to that process
They share tales about books, ideas, world
The become friends, share love so strong
That our narrator wants to take His place
When the time comes
But that is not how this world works
It’s not a novel of manners
Yet there is an irony in this
A kind you can find in literature
He was supposed to see his mother beforehand
Because even if his country doesn’t need him
She would give everything to have him back
There is no meeting, instead he decides to leave on his own terms
He doesn’t die how he leaved
Scorching hot water flowing over him
Yet we shall remember Him with sword out of flame
Loved and idealistic till the end
poetry blog 