Edvard Shevardnashze

      "Lenin in his tomb is white and weary.
      Before the world exploded into shards
      His voice was the bull-roarer, and it soared
      In waking syllables above the dreaming dead.
5     Life's green branch is snapped above the boulevard
      Where we march shouting, and the stick
      Is in our hands whose slurring fire flamed
      The Kremlin's egg-shell spires back to ash.
      The ruling house is rubble rucked with tars;
10    Tsars' bones cluck where dinosaur skeletons are.
      Smooth-skulled tanks from one-eyed turrets stare
      And move out like mastodons from their simple pits of ice,
      Rolling up the capitol with a wish to kill and eat
      The man-shaped offspring that teethed on mother-meat.
15    It is incessant springtime now, and a rash
      Of bursting apples cracks the wintered bough
      Stunned by expectation and by prophesies;
      When I resigned Gorbachev to his statesman's fate,
      Telling off the congress with a blue face,
20    What, love, rattled to the empty chute?
      Now we saunter and talk by the renewing river
      That sighs and shifts and corkscrews through Gorky Park
      Where the ferriswheel is shivering to its height
      And Moscow skaters wobble new-foaled, released
25    From their eternal moment when Stalin stopped the stream,
      His mustache powdering like a giant Jack Frost pleased
      To see his humid hometown freezing into dream.
      Churches hold their quiver of new crosses up to light.
      Marooned in the humming populace of the Platz, larks
30    Disperse with the bright bells beating like a gun;
      By starred asters starred children lamb and race
      Past buoyed parents walking, and cannot wait
      To see themselves staring up from the water's face.
      Dripping workers grown cold in soldered light
35    Rivet the future's extinction together bolt by bolt...
      The Comintern's cragging inmates stare and scream
      Like storks in pilgrim plumage from their bobwire nest
      Topping the charring stacks; how long will stapled feathers stick?
      When the atom bomb blisters and their faces melt
40    Before the torn waters of the burning lake
      What will rise in ecstatic showers to dissipate?"

 

From the collection "XXX Sonnets"

Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]

More information available on gregglory.com.