With the winter snows crippling most of Europe and central Asia, I think of the little Russian house in Almaty where we lived in shortly after Naila and I were married. Often we were totally snow-bound and enjoyed a day at home by a roaring fire. Here is a poem I wrote at the time about the Eternal Flame, a memorial to Soviet soldiers who died in the second world war. During the winter, many old comrades of that bygone era would gather round the warm flame and toast to fallen comrades with a tot of Vodka.
Eternal Flame
Clicker-clack, snicker-shack
The aging keys rattle back
Typist here, translator there
The pretty one married last year
Iron clink, metal clunk
Steel wheels ply the trunk
Almaty’s old and its new
Mini-skirts and gaudy shoes
Camcorders whir, brides purr
The eternal flame libedoes spur
The brides are new then they’re old
No flames survive winter cold
Shiver back, wrap the sack
An aging soldier coughs and hacks
Cuddles the eternal flame for warmth
His medals lie as history taunts.
Almaty
v2 July 2007
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