Rosso Impeccabile
2021
Over the city, centuries flowed silently away,
And empires crumbled, yet preserved in ash's sway,
It lies today, a corpse unburied, they declare,
'Midst joyless lands, scorched earth, a bleak despair.
Around, eternal terror of the final hour,
In fallen gods with smiles of careless power,
In tattered robes, the remnants of their feast,
In silent chambers, empty stalls, deceased.
Even within a box with fragrant vials held,
In rosy cheeks and wristlets once dispelled,
As if yesterday, a deep rut carved its trace,
By heavy wagon wheels, a heavy load's embrace.
As if the marble bath was just warmed with care,
By touches of the bodies, scented in the air.
Lighter than dreams, the paintings on the wall,
Triton on a water steed, a wondrous scene to call,
And in the flowing robes, the Muses' grace,
Here all around, a beauty's final resting place.
Not living, nor dead, but eternal, they presume,
Features petrified, as in Medusa's gloom.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
And in the azure waves, the sails gleam white,
Vesuvius's smoke, a tranquil, stunning sight,
At dawn, it rises to the heavens above,
Like a cloud so pink, so tender, and so pure.
Pompeii, 1891
D. Merezhkovsky
Authors: Mikheil Mikadze, Oyat Shukurov, Sofya Balykina