Volga Region

My window is open
And Roman fresh air
Is entering my room …

It is night, my cherished friend,
And I feel happy/strange
Or stranna, as you prefer.

A breeze of joy
And a scent of freedom
Are entering my window
And pervading my soul.

You will think, my dearest woman,
That I am an old professor
Who is willing to write poems
Like old-time people used to do.

But these words are not a poem.
This is just the way I write,
This is how I need to write
When my heart feels rich and full.

It is full of all the days
We have spent together,
It is full of all those ways,
and race and stranna manners.
It is full of your superb
Mongolian laughing face.

All you have presented,
All the things that mattered
And that I could understand
Of this vast, profound great land.

And what I could not comprehend
You have told me with your accent,
You have spoken with throat voice
To this stranger from Rimi …

I look out my window
And I see Roman people
Talking and walking,
Laughing and chatting.

There are couples, youths,
Strolling on a street,
A Roman street
With Colosseum behind.

You’re from an Asian region
With great majestic Volga
Slowly flowing,
So slowly flowing.

It flows so slow
That gave me such peace
The first time I came to admire
Its silver transparent waters.

Going back to imperial Moscow
I was puffing on a train
Without looking behind
Like in ancient fairy tales …

Now it’s late, the night is still.
I can hear only a few cats
Roman people gone to bed
And me having to go soon …

I say good night to you my friend,
I say ‘have peace’ to you my friend.
I want so much, really so much,
That your life be so happy.

Ψ

Another English poem (so to say) describing a moment of intense remembrance. It is not a love remembrance, it is to be noted, plus I know that the Volga region is not in Asia but in Europe. The person remembered was though clearly Asiatic in her origin and Mongolian in her features, Russia being somewhat halfway between Europe and Asia.

(Image of Colosseum by stefano.vesco)