The Poet and the Painter

I have been experimenting with writing poetry since I joined the Creative writing class a couple of years ago. This poem is a memory of a wonderful week on the river Karma, Russia

he Poet and the Painter

Five sun warmed lazy days,

the river mirroring the blue haze above.

On deck kids play.  Mayakovsky gazes

silently

while in the lounge, bathed in blue,

the piano murmurs softly-

French sonatas 

on a Russian afternoon.

We are cruising  towards 

Kazan, Tatarstan.

On the way we pause at

Yelabuga,

small town, nestling on Kama’s bank.

Here Shishkin was born,

the wanderer who celebrated far flung forests in paint.

For Tsvetaeva the town meant

exile.

Her poems tore open her tortured heart.

Then, bereft of family and friends,

deep in despair,

she took her own life.

Ivan and Marina-

birth and death

In that little town.

We go back to the boat, the 

Mayakovsky

and make our lazy leisurely way 

to where the Kama meets the Volga,

to

Kazan, Tatarstan