Follow your heart

Cold flickers of candlelight my solace keep.

Through boughs of hollow souls, a shadow’s brand,

The wound of madness carves the mind’s command.

I walk these walls, a prisoner to thought,

A captive of battles that freedom forgot.

Yet still, in the silence, a spark does remain,

A vision of worlds unbound by chains.

You linger with me in the midnight’s depth,

You hold me fast from sorrow’s fatal step.

And though the lies and dreams decay to dust,

To you, my door stays open, as it must.

For beyond these walls, a world may thrive,

Where dreams unfettered take to the skies.

I am not bound by what others decree;

These walls are my making, and I hold the key.

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 fa?ades 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.