Boris Pasternak


I never read the novel, the Russians

are long winded, but the movie was:

White as the absence of a side

to take, sharp as a blade cutting

the ice near isolated
spaces sheathed in a wasteland

aswirl with snow. In Russia,

there is always snow.


In a time of horses and sleighs,

sabers, and palaces, the poor
are as always, hungry and cold.

The middle classed and wealthy
remain indifferent except for the quality

and availablity of the best years
for wine. A time of footprints

in snow, rags around the feet,

and starvation. Gas lamps

outside, inside candles mostly.


A brother narrates the telling

of love during wartime
and the changing of the guards.

Scattered families will never
 be reunited, tales of heroes gone

mad, villains escaping a huge

constellation of characters, with only

death defining the tale's end.


Red was for the living, the life

blood of a future empire destined

to fall. Warriors deserting
the front lines to go home

to find the Czar dead,
and a newer order with newer

chains and more inventive ways

to starve or cough. The latest fashion

was the renaming of cities

with Revolutionary names. Red

became a color of a heart pulsing,

spilling on ground frozen over

with thousands of corpses to be found

come the spring thaw.


The soldiers singing, “Death comes

when it comes. It has no appetite

for breathing.” The flag's color made

little difference to most Russians, really.

Finally, the winners won.


Balalaika playing was hereditary

and encouraged until dams full

of flowing notes filled the crisp spring

air. As the Director declared, an aging

uncle watched beneath heavy gray

with experience brows as another

generation of soldiers, the legacy

of apolitical and unknown parents,

set to the tasks of running

the temporary peace.






Author's Notes/Comments: 

Zhivago was a famous poet. His times consumed him. 

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9inety's picture


tell ya, Stella, I love your stuff...

Soon, I'll elaborate more...

I've run out of time today

Got get too bed, got to work the midnight shift...




"One of the best results of life, is the torment of love"

Dylan Eliot

allets's picture

U R So Kind

Thanks for the nice comment ~~A~~