Hello, lovely stranger! My name is Veronica Sizova, and I am a 19-year-old Russian girl, currently studying in Canada.
Since early childhood, I have been mesmerized by the literary art. The words – exquisite, intricately intertwined, sophisticated, magnificently powerful and fragile simultaneously, – remind me of the oceanic waves, and poetry hides in their unfathomable depths.
This place is meant to become a sanctuary for the tortured souls, aflame with a passion for literature.
My photo of St. Isaac Cathedral and The Bronze Horseman (Peter the Great’s Statue), 2017.My photo of TheAdmiralty, 2017My photo of the Winter Palace, 2017My photo of The Peterhof Palace Gardens, 2020
Saint Petersburg - the city of the Dead,
Where dreaming spirits haunt the mist-cloaked streets.
A diadem of rubies crowns your head,
And silver armour lines your mighty fleet.
Let myriads of angels guard your spires
Against the pain and suffering of war:
Rejoice, the bygone northernmost empire,
Built on deception, cruelty, and gore!
The Winter Palace flaunts its azure gown -
A ballerina on the frozen lake,
Whose beauty flares, as if about to drown
Beneath the burden of her last mistake.
May a luxuriant, wild garden grow
Where once was land of misery and snow.
Spring Scattering Stars by Edwin BlashfieldA Midsummer Night’s Dream by Gustave DoréWinter by Wilhelm KrayFalling Star by Witold Pruszkowski
My distant angel,
Only you can decipher
This secret message.
Deep in the shadows
Where summer turns to autumn
Once a year, we meet.
Two star-crossed lovers
Separated by darkness,
United by light.
The sky will show you
Our celestial counterparts:
Vega and Altair.
Illustration: The Moon Asked The Crow by Christian Schloe
We are spending more time apart than together
Playing silent games…
Are we lovers or ghosts, lighter than feathers,
Leaving nebulous stains?
Let my longing be nectar to your amorous venom,
Which leads me astray -
Our memories echo a murderous raven
Looking for prey.
Tenderness has become a torturous weapon
In your loving hands,
And I swallow my words like the earth swallows Heaven
Each time it rains…
L’utopie (Utopia) by René MagritteLe tombeau des lutteurs (The tomb of the wrestlers) by René MagritteL’invitation au voyage (The Invitation to Travel) by René MagritteLe Roman Populaire (The Popular Novel) by René Magritte
If you were a rose,
You would hide in the dark
Until I discovered your delicate spark.
If you were a rose,
Every flower would fade,
Entranced by the perfume which you radiate.
If you were a rose,
Your soft, velvety skin
Would cover my eyes with the raptures unseen.
If you were a rose,
I would kiss your wild thorns,
Crimson with blood, as it lingers and burns.
If you were a rose,
You would bloom all year long,
Drinking my tears when I cry, all alone.
If you were a rose,
You would grow in my heart,
Entwining it gently, as you tear me apart.
My garden has blossomed With sorrow and loss.
Why didn't you tell me that you were a rose?
“The Sea Hath its Pearls” by William Henry Margetson“Longing” by Heinrich Vogler
To all of you, entranced by subtle verse,
Here lies a gift concealed between the lines -
As though a scintillating pearl, enclosed
Naively by the effervescent rhymes.
Kindling above the fervent windswept waves,
Your gentle words transcend the leaden clouds!
Ornate, like scarlet flames, the heartfelt praise,
Unvanquished, burns away my puerile doubts.
So I remain a prisoner, alone
Ordained to dwell in the Siberian steppe -
May there be solace - when the warmth is gone,
Upon your eyes, rains softly my regret.
Creating threads of poetry at night,
How blessed I am to have your vibrant light!
“The storm is coming!” So the tidal waves utter, crashing into cliffs and spattering their violent embraces across the roaring shore. There is only one dark silhouette standing quiescently amidst the oncoming water. A young lady with dark, shadowy eyes fixed on the edge of the Earth is singing, as her raven hair wavers in the forceful gusts of poignant oceanic air…
“Шторм надвигается!” – глухо шипят волны прилива, разбиваясь о скалы и разбрызгивая свои яростные объятия по стонущему берегу. Среди подступающей воды в неподвижном ожидании замер мрачный силуэт. Юная девушка с тёмными глазами, устремлёнными на край Земли, поёт, а её волосы цвета воронова крыла развеваются в мощных порывах ледяного океанического воздуха…
This poem is dedicated to the film “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.” The exquisite digital painting for the sonnet was created by my dearest friend, a talented young artist Vasilisa Semiletova. You can behold her masterpieces here: https://vk.com/elopeople, and don’t hesitate to follow her Instagram!
I paint my dear love in subtle tones
Upon the canvas, luminous and warm.
Before my eyes - stripped to the bare bones -
Her soul ignites, as though about to burn…
"If you observe me, who do I look at?" -
Her question sets my quietude aflame.
"Remember us, beloved, don't regret:
Your portrait glows within a golden frame!"
The years pass: my heart still skips a beat
Whenever it recalls the day she smiled;
I turned around, confessing my defeat,
Forever from the lover's arms exiled.
Alas, her longing gaze did not meet mine,
Enraptured, when I saw her one last time.
