Vivid Grey

This poem recently appeared in The Vox Populi, a student publication at my college. I wrote this poem to try to capture the essence of Russia and the little things about it that have romanced me. It doesn't come close to expressing what I feel, but I hope it gives you a small glimpse into why I love Russia.

Vivid Grey

The place I left behind still runs like vodka through my veins;

The memories bring back the life when I forget to write,

My story’s etched into the grit of Russia’s lovely pains.

Walks to university in charm of black and white,

The shivering smog of cigarette smoke that frosts the autumn air,

And droning days that lead to flashing diskoteka nights.

Vivid grey is Russia’s song, a paradox I miss,

The dingy bus, the cold-eyed stares, the leather and the dirt,

The rolling, shishing, trilling speech  that greets me in a kiss.

I piece together humming sounds of everyone around;

The harsh-toned matron, drunken man are musical in tone,

In every word the color odes me with its throaty sound.

In icons, incense, onion domes, I breathe a mystery,

But none compares to breath of friendship bonded in the night;

The deepest meaning meted in guitar’s sweet subtlety.

Strong tea wets our throats as we go laughing in the night,

Enlivened by the bonfire, the ancient folktale songs,

And foreign souls entwine in joy impossible to write.

Life distant yet so vivid, doubts want the dreams destroyed,

But memories bring back the life when I forget to write;

My story’s penned into the book of Russia’s aching joy.