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.
Your whisper haunts me through the night and in the light of day -
The waterfall of memories devours its breathless prey.
Beware! The languid turquoise guise seems utterly serene,
Yet thousands fell to their demise in this alluring stream.
Mnemosyne, a patron saint of the undying past,
Bathe me in your sweet revelry and turn my soul to dust!
If it were now to die - I would - for nothing will exceed
The water's luscious lullaby - intoxicating, deep…
A single thought is all it takes to silently succumb:
When a forgotten love awakes, the consciousness goes numb.
You are the gravity, which tempts, desiring my downfall -
Although the sombre heart repents, it answers your wild call.
I have become the waterfall, my tenderness cascades
Upon your lips - the memory of passion never fades!