Follow your heart

ODE TO PETERSBURG

“Nothing compares to you. There is no other city like you, Petersburg. Peter the Great built you in 1703, but before that, you were already a place of great memory and history. You are far older than your stone façades suggest. My mother adored books about the construction of Saint Isaac’s Cathedral. She was a wise and well-read woman, and she often spoke of Montferrand’s genius. Every building in Petersburg speaks—what do you hear?”

I.

Beneath your mists, my soul finds its tether;

In your streets, I lose myself forever.

Oh, Petersburg, my confession is yours,

Your northern airs gnaw my soul with frost’s claws.

Yet in your labyrinths, my heart is sealed,

A captive to your haunting and eternal fields.

You and he—yes, both surround me still,

With winds that chill and passions that thrill.

Through foggy breath and brackish tides,

You weave your mystic spell that never dies.

Your canals stir dreams, Dostoevsky’s despair,

Gogol’s madness still floats in the air.

Pushkin’s grace walks through your stormy night,

While golden spires gleam with eternal light.

No sun can break your iron sky,

Yet twilight domes in splendour lie.

Your beauty binds, your whispers sting,

A phantom’s echo, a raven’s wing.

And in your clutches, I am bent,

An unyielding heart, a soul’s lament.

Your madness fuels my every breath,

Your brilliance guards me against regret.

II.

The stones beneath my feet hold the weight of countless secrets.

I wander your alleys, your shadowed bends,

Crossing roads, seeking where the spirit mends.

The rogue’s path is cloaked, unclear,

Its purpose doused in fire and fear.

Passions surge, unfit, unkind,

Their flame ignites my restless mind.

A gilded cage creaks in the stillness of dreams,

Where forgotten legends stitch their seams.

Thoughts leap like squirrels on ancient boughs,

Like dolphins piercing ocean’s vows.

In my veins, the tales of warriors glide,

Burning brighter than tides of time.

Petersburg sprawls in tempest’s wail,

Its soul alive, its heart so frail.

Yet through its gloom, its endless night,

I search for clarity, for guiding light.

III.

You are my cradle and my abyss.

Oh, Petersburg, my eternal throne,

Veiled in beauty, to me you have shown—

That from the swamp you rose with pride,

Your copper steeds through mists abide.

The Bronze Horseman’s stern gaze holds fast,

Guarding your splendour, from future to past.

You—the keeper of restless dreams untold,

A realm of fire, of frost, of gold.

Forgotten by none, you shape our fate,

Where spirits rise and storms abate.

I breathe your mist, your briny air,

And find my solace lingering there.

Your rains of grey, your ceaseless weep,

Where madness and prayers their secrets keep.

You are the moment, the fleeting spark,

A city of light, of shade, of dark.

IV.

When the night falls silent, the city dreams on.

Soft slides the drop, the night retreats,

The owl’s call echoes through empty streets.

The city’s pulse beneath shadows keeps,

A thousand whispers the darkness reaps.

The bronze sentinel, cold and stern,

Watches dreams as they twist and churn.

A silent shepherd of timeless lore,

Guarding legends for evermore.

Who are you, keeper of shadow and stone?

What stories linger, what deeds atone?

Your storms have sculpted iron and gold,

Your nights a canvas, a tale untold.

V.

In you, I was born; in you, I found myself.

What do I see in you, my beloved Petersburg?

The dream of my youth, a distant mirth.

Your spires rise where shadows merge,

Your alleys weave through time and earth.

Your courtyards cradle whispers of rain,

Where love and loss leave their fleeting stain.

The sigh of trees in gardens bare,

The cries of gulls fill the frozen air.

Through the mist of your ancient ways,

I walk in silence, lost in a daze.

Your bridges arch like endless dreams,

Your rivers hum with eternal streams.

What secrets sleep in your stone embrace?

What truths lie buried in your grace?

I see the years, the endless fight,

To claim your fire, to hold your light.

You are the prism of my soul’s despair,

A city of beauty beyond compare.

Forever will your spirit endure,

My Petersburg, both fierce and pure.

VI.

What do I behold in you, my dearest Petersburg?

In you, I was born and swiftly raised.

Through phantom doors, I love you still,

As I see the glow from your cathedral spires.

In you lies my dream, concealed for years,

In you, my spirit of love, and the sorrow it bears.

Now, for all eternity, I glimpse your facets,

As you open doors I once believed sealed.

What whispers in the hush of your courtyard wells?

What lingers in the rustling leaves of your gardens,

Or the droplets clinging to the rain-drenched panes?

A tear has hidden itself in your tranquil waters,

And no stranger dared disturb the cry of gulls.

In a feverish trance, I refused to close my eyes,

Staring at your bridges and lanterns, silent until dawn.