Father and daughter
Sveta is friend
For long had faded dark; as unfound
I went to see her, ask…
Of Sochi, of the past, displaced by tsars
Then returned and removed; Bolsheviks
Now lives in Canada, a landed-immigrant.
“What is up? ”
“All is fight! ”
I stopped to digest in silence.
“She left at eleven, then met him in six years
Now she is a woman…”
She said and I knew most of past.
Her husband, daughter’s dad,
Man of heights like Incas
Is rigid, cultural
Stayed and could not come
Cannot change, doesn't want
He is rock of mountains,
So was he, has remained
The Circassian’s Circassian
Even with heart attack.
Two decades in here
She is now brainwashed
Yankee-like.
Two worlds are galaxies, worlds apart.
In this fight who is right?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem