At Pushkin Square
By Tatiana Pahlen

The sun at Pushkin Square is beaming brighter,
Greenery chimes encircling Twerskoi Boulevard,
Bystanders' faces glow with aspirations
Stepping on the poet's beaten path.

Flowers bloom all year round,
Flocks of birds gloriously sing
Flying gaily to sapphire heights,
They guard the sculpture fenced by fountains.

Pushkin pops alive above his own statue
Bending his head in solemn thoughts,
His awe-inspiring soul is raging
As he rips off his stifling frock.

The poet frowns at the new cohort,
Vexation sparks in his eyewink,
Placing his foot into a brick stirrup
He spurs a muse of the fallen Kremlin's rim.

If once again echoes will challenge the deadly discharge,
Nightfall mourns the late daybreak,
The square admits the new Decembrist-Rebels
Pushkin would jump to them
From his marble stand!


First written in Russian in 1979
Translated into English in September 25, 1998

© 2003 Tatianyc. All Rights Reserved.


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