by Alicja Kuberska
Far in the North, where the dark-eyed Neva River
Spills its cold waters, and a June day has no end,
The city of my childhood sprang up on the marsh.
In a dream-like longing, I return to the granite boulevards,
I marvel at the white-and-green facades of the palaces,
And the golden domes of the churches,
Glistening against the cool sky.
I hear clatter of horses’ hooves, and see a bronze horseman,
Traversing each night the broad prospects, and vast plazas.
With one leap, overcoming the chasm under the drawbridge.
I pass by elegant, French-style houses and gardens.
The riches of the age of the tsars added to their brilliance, their proud beauty.
The old capital of the empire never surrendered, never knelt down.
I believe that I will return here once more,
When fate reveals a magnanimous face.
I shall see the Maple, planted with a childish hand, reach the clouds.
I shall timidly peer into the windows of the house on Toreza Street.
Last updated May 24, 2015