Pushkin recalls “the wondrous moment”

When she arrived into his life.

He writes “As though a brief and fleeting omen.”

“Pure phantom in enchanting light.”

How divine can a moment be

When it lasts for 1,000 years?

How ephemeral can 1,000 years be

When it arrives then disappears?

The grey life you lead is yours alone

Until one “1,000 years” moment takes it all away

Then the air you breathe is their home

And your grey life feels like Monet everyday.

If I am to be known by a poet

Then I long to be his muse.

Our fleeting seconds are worth a million sonnets.

A million seconds aren’t mine to lose.

Leave me be

As I wait under my ashoka tree.

Leave me be

As I read my Russian poetry.

Osip describes his love through art;

The sun that warmed his soul.

He writes “The flame that burns within my heart.”

“And makes me whole.”

How forlorn it should be

To spend eternity with the abyss.

And how elated I would be

To find that he is waiting for the eclipse.

I, the sun, stroll alone in the sky

Until I eclipse with my Moon

We dance until all of the stars collide

The sky becomes black as we swoon

If I am to be known by a poet

Then I long to be his muse.

Our fleeting seconds are worth a million sonnets.

A million seconds aren’t mine to lose.

Leave me be

As I wait under my ashoka tree.

Leave me be

As I read my Russian poetry.

If I am to be known by a poet

Then I long to be his muse.

Our fleeting seconds are worth a million sonnets.

A millions seconds are mine to choose

So leave me be

As I wait under my ashoka tree.

Oh, leave me be

As I read my Russian poetry.