SIBERIAN SONG

I am sounding my song.
it is a somber song.

Yet sprinkled with colors,
hopeful colors.

Like the sparkling shards of pure color.
refracted by the hexagonal prisms of the
early morning Siberian snow.

Each, elegant, crystalline, fragile in hue.
Each imbued with its own vision of hope.
hope of redemption by extreme unction.

I have been exiled.

I am penitent.
I am content,
no privileged!
To gaze up transfixed,by the gleaming brass ring,

And the jangle of my jailers bright keys
And the jangle of electroplated keys.
And the scintillating tinkling of the keys.

Ah! The scintillating tinkling of the keys.

Reviews

[NotUsinganymore]

Beautiful but bittersweet poem. Every country has its sins.

[John the Baptist]

Siberia may be beautiful, but it is also entangled with a grim history. The speaker sounds like a political prisoner who has been exiled for some offense to the powers that be. The last two stanzas depict one of the few ways one can cope with such a situation.