Poems anna akhmatova. (part 7)

X x x

Whether to look for you on earth –
I don’t know if you’re dead or you live –
Or about you in the evening
I should for you, departed, grieve.

All is for you: and the daily prayer
And the sleeplessness’ swooning flame
And the white flock of my poems
And my eyes’ blue violent flame.

No one was dearer to me, no one,
No one left me this bereft,
Not even he who betrayed me to torment,
Not even he who caressed, then left.

X x x

No, my prince, I am not the one
On whom you’d rather lay your eyes,
And for long these lips of mine
Do not kiss, but prophesize.

Do not think I’m in delirium
Or with boredom I do whine
Loudly I speak of pain:
It’s the very trade of mine.

And I know how to teach,
That the unexpected happened,
How to tame for centuries
Her, whose love is so rapid.

You want glory? Ask from me
For advice for this your plight,
Only it is but a trap,
There’s no joy here and no light.

Well, go home, and forget
This our meeting, I implore,
And for your sin, my dear one,
I’ll respond before the Lord.

X x x

From memory of you I will remove that day,
So that your helpless-foggy look will ask this:
Where did I see the Persian lilac bush,
The swallows and the wooden house?

Oh, how often will you recollect
The sudden angst of the uncalled desires
And in the pensive cities you did seek
That street which was not on the map entire!

Upon the sound of voice behind an open door,
Upon the sight of every accidental letter,
You will remember: “Here has she herself
Come to assist my disbelief unfettered.”

X x x

Did not scold me, did not praise me,
Like friends and like enemies.
Only left his soul to me
And then said, “Now keep in peace.”

And one thing worries me so:
If this moment he will die,
God’s archangel will come to me
For his soul from the sky.

How then will I hide her so,
How to hide it from God’s eyes?
She, the soul, that cries and sings so
Must be in His paradise.

X x x

My shadow has remained there and is angstful,
In that blue room she still to this day lives,
She waits for guests from city beyond midnight
And to enamel image gives a kiss.
And things are not quite well around the house:
It still is dark, although they lit the flame..
Not from all this the hostess is in boredom,
Not from all this the host drinks all the same
And hears how on the other side of the thin wall
The guest arrived talks to me at all?

X x x

I see capital through the flurry
On this Monday night twenty-first.
Some do-nothing has made up the story
That love exists on the earth.

And from laziness or from boredom
All believed, and thus they live:
Wait for meeting, fear the parting,
And sing songs of love.

But to others opens a secret
And upon them descends a still..
I by accident came upon this
And since then am as if I’m ill.

X x x

On the blooming lilac bushes
Sky is sowing the light rain.
Beats with wings upon the window
The white, the white Spirits’ day.

For a friend to be returning
From the sea – especial hour.
I am dreaming of the far shore,
Of the stone, sand and tower.

I will enter, meeting light,
On the top of one of these towers.
In the land of swamps and fields
There are in memory no towers.

Only I will sit on the porch,
There, where dense shadows lay.
Help me in my fright, at last,
The white, the white Spirits’ day.

X x x

I know, that you are my reward



extreme sport
Poems anna akhmatova. (part 7)