The Night

I am entangled in the silence of the night

And, come the day, I hear it my speech;

I am abandoned at the mercy of scarce lights

Which try and fail to keep the dark at bay;


I know the end of all that now begins:

The night has told me that each word repeats itself

And change is an illusion, which they teach

To us, who hide from nights between the sheets;


And sleeping through the quiet, through the dark

We only open our eyes when dawn sweeps clear

The sky, and fills the air with sounds of life,

More fleeting than the silence of the night

4 thoughts on “The Night

  1. The soul of Russia emerges here, in my opinion as a westerner and understanding of Russian self identity. It is a theme throughout the literature accepting existential life or at least portraying it as you have done here. A sort of literary anthem.

    1. Thank you, Carl, for a very interesting analysis of the poem. After spending a long time in a very remote part of Russia and observing the people who live and travel there, I must have felt the need to express my understanding of what I’ve noticed about them.

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