I love Putin she often says
as beguiling smile spreads
like rays of rising sun
‘cross her oft troubled face.
This day, now, we lie lazily on her bed
as news of
fills breadth and depth of TV screen and she,
mischievously, tugs at me;
she sings then asks: What language that?
Russian I reply (with friendly smile).
And thunder cracks the twinkle from her eyes
and she screams:
My God I hate, despise you, hate hate hate!
You’re stuck inside my f*cking head.
I’m gonna kill myself, be dead dead dead!
(And snarl parts her lips and venom spits.)
Oops, wrong answer (thinks I)
and cross arms to cushion blows aimed at chest.
C’mon I say, we’re friends; but diatribe persists
and she flies at me with flailing fists
and I get up to leave, say:
I won’t listen to this anymore;
and ignore her jibes and walk away.
Elsewhere, a million miles away,
Donetsk, or some other
city, town, Kramatorsk
she sits forlorn, (another troubled soul)
fists in futile fury curled,
scorned by those who wish to separate
those once she viewed as welcome friends;
she wants an end to it, an end to it all,
but fears it will end as in the past,
the days of old
where peace was wrapped constrained
in iron grip of fist of bitter cold.
I hate this, I hate hate hate this
(she thinks) and sinks into her misery.
Claudia at at dVerse has us writing of conversation/dialogue in poetry and above is my take on it.
The little lady first featured was singing her rendition of Kalinka and she was annoyed I recognised the language. She, not Russian herself, firmly believes she is, a member of the higher echelons no less, who enjoys the ear (and she –she would have you believe, the bed) of Putin. Her dearest wish is that Putin will enter
This world is full of a multitude of madness’s and the second little lady exists in the real madness that is
PS I love the Red Army Choir, just love it; introduced to the magnificence of their wonderful voices at the city hall of the city in which I lived as a spotty teenager – I have loved and listened every since. Of the video – those idiots cavorting round the stage should be shot at dawn – how in this age we cheapen the beautiful…
Also entered today (11.05.14) at the Poetry Pantry at Poets United - thanks to Mary for hosting.
Video: Courtesy of YouTube