Posted by The storm has left the air in a fluster,
Things come to life, draw breath, like Eden.
Spreading a purple-handed cluster,
The lilac scoops a stream of freshness.
Things come to life with the shift of weather.
The drainpipes overflow with showers.
Behind black cloud a light sky towers,
In range on range of blue on blue.
More vigorous even than the weather,
To wash the world, the artists hand
Dips life in dyes and issues brand
New legends and realities.
Now fifty years of memory
Recede with the receding storm.
Time to accept another stage;
The century has come of age.
It’s not the earthquake that controls,
The advent of a different life,
But storms of generosity
And visions of incandescent souls.
By Boris Pasternak (Russian Poetry)
“I really like this poem specially the last stanza.”