Augustus Young       light verse, poetry and prose
a webzine of new and unpublished work

Seven Russian Songs in Bethlehem

1. Dip your finger in the dust
and the troika appears
a burst of hope, which must
fool fate, rolling back the years,
and you’ll be back as of old.
Accidents we can forget.
The blind horses on the road
will not be gaining on death.
2. Leave the chrysanthemums die,
the other flowers will die too.
In the far end of the sky
a guiding star waits for who?
The lilac says to someone,
the little cloud that spring grants
the garden is no more than
the dead soul of a migrant. 
3. Throwing the ring on the ground
so you make the garden grow,
so you draw neighboring crowds
to look into the house, so
through the window they will see
the long evening unroll
a fire inside like the gold
in the interstellar sky.
And so the copper is found
still hot in the ancient ring.
So you can drop dead. Your shroud
is where you have been standing.
4. Where could be the gravity
lost to sight in space? Certain-
ly, in the cold light of day
I cannot return by train. 
Our heyday has died away
like rain or the dawn chorus.
You ceased to exist one day.
There is nothing before us,
no page to read you anew.
Still, the blade of a penknife
catches the infinite blue
beyond, a tremble of light.
5. .A bird of passage will fly
alongside us, a golden one.
How convenient for goodbyes
to live by a train station?
The depth of your voice and fair
hair. Eyes filled with tears. I heard
in me the sudden splinter
of the heart of a songbird.
6. Beyond Siberia, Siberia.
Beyond the forest, forest.
Beyond the beyond, desert
torn apart in a snowstorm.
The blizzard has its handcuffs
and dagger to dispatch me.
I pay the debt left behind
by others who are elsewhere.
Out of hate, fear and terror.
Out of pain. Beyond the wall,
another wall. A sentinel
stops dead at an unnamed grave.
7. My heartbeat growing weaker
brings us closer. In the end,
the failing final flicker.
is out of our hands, my friend.
Translated by Augustus Young, April  13  2008