Monday, 14 November 2011

Leninists

Rickshaw brothers swoop
from tree to tree
in pursuit of an answer.

Humble loveless urchins
cowered in paddock
weeping into their borscht.

No hope in Cossack wife
she drowned the burden
when the moon surrendered.

Sorrowful shot man
minced sons for the
dignity of discipline.

5 comments:

  1. Great depth to your poem and enjoy reading it.

    ReplyDelete
  2. A clutch of characters here at different levels of being. I love the sound of "minced sons for the / dignity of discipline.

    ReplyDelete
  3. This is old Mikhail poem. My fellow ex-Urbisites! Danka!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Raskolnikov murders the old pawnbroker woman, and her sister.

    ReplyDelete
  5. You are
    abnormally
    fond of
    urchins.

    I
    like
    that.

    ReplyDelete