This heritage is both a blessing and a burden – a weight I carry with pride and responsibility. From a young age, I was taught to honour the values of dignity, resilience, and grace. My education was steeped in history, literature, and the arts, guided by the knowledge that I was not merely living for myself but for the continuation of something greater.

Yet, beneath the veneer of elegance and privilege lay a quiet rebellion. As much as I cherished my lineage, I yearned for a life beyond its expectations. I wanted to carve my own path, to discover a world unshackled by tradition and propriety.

THE CALL OF THE NEVA

But life is not a fairy tale. As I stood on the banks of the Neva, the wind biting at my cheeks, I felt the stirrings of restlessness. I was searching for something – though I did not yet know what. The city I loved so deeply felt at times like a gilded cage. Beneath its beauty lay a quiet sorrow, a yearning for something beyond its borders, a freedom that no bridge could connect and no canal could contain.

The Neva, with its endless current, seemed to mirror my own longing – a desire to move forward, to break free from the confines of my life, yet always tethered by the invisible thread of memory and belonging. The city, much like the river, carried my dreams and fears, flowing steadily through the labyrinth of my thoughts.

A JOURNEY BEYOND

One day, standing by the Palace Bridge, watching the Neva flow beneath me, I knew it was time to leave. It was not an escape but a journey. I wasn’t running away from Saint Petersburg; I was carrying its essence with me, weaving its legacy into the fabric of my future.

My first steps away from Saint Petersburg were tentative. It was difficult to leave the city that had shaped me, to part from its timeless streets and ethereal skies. But life often demands that we leave what we love in order to grow.

I set my sights on South Africa, a land so different from the snowy elegance of my home. The idea seemed surreal – exchanging the Neva’s icy embrace for the sun-drenched landscapes of the African continent. Yet, deep down, I felt that this journey would unlock something within me, something that had been dormant for too long.

As I boarded the train that would take me away from the city, I looked back one last time. The gilded spires of Saint Petersburg shimmered in the morning light, the canals reflecting the pastel hues of the sky. It was a farewell, but not an ending. The city would remain a part of me, its spirit interwoven with my own.

The train began to move, the rhythmic sound of its wheels a steady reminder of the path ahead. I clutched the small leather journal that had been my companion for years, its pages filled with sketches and thoughts, fragments of dreams and plans for the future. In that moment, I promised myself that I would honour the city that had given me so much by carrying its legacy forward.

As the Neva faded from view, replaced by the vast, open landscapes of the unknown, I felt a mixture of sadness and anticipation. The journey ahead was uncertain, but it was mine to embrace. And so, with the memory of Saint Petersburg etched into my heart, I turned my gaze forward, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

…From Johannesburg’s sun to Cape Town’s chill,

In winter’s embrace, I remembered her still.

Through long nights, I fought her, but now comes the time

To share her with you through reason and rhyme.

Through shadowy realms, where silver hair flows,

A spearless man found this book ’mid the rose.

Far from the eyes of despair or disdain,

He sat there in silence, and wept through the pain.

Within him, a dream stirred the birth of new light,

Where he walked as in Eden, in soft, golden flight.

Where love’s deepest wishes burned bright as the sun,

In a land of enchantment where dreams had begun.

Among violets and roses, in gold’s tender gleam,

Where the birds sang their tune by a crystalline stream,

An orchid emerged with its blossoms untamed,

A marvel of beauty, a love newly named.

“We were poor, but we didn’t know—we were free,”

Said the echo of ages, still longing to be.

Seconds slip past through the centuries’ span,

Untouched but remembered by woman and man.