There will be thunder then. Remember me.
Say ‘ She asked for storms.’ The entire
world will turn the colour of crimson stone,
and your heart, as then, will turn to fire.

That day, in Moscow, a true prophecy,
when for the last time I say goodbye,
soaring to the heavens that I longed to see,
leaving mI haven't locked the door, 
Nor lit the candles, 
You don't know, don't care, 
That tired I haven't the strength 
To decide to go to bed. 
Seeing the fields fade in 
The sunset murk of pine-needles, 
And to know all is lost, 

That life is a cursed hell: 
I've got drunk 
On your voice in the doorway. 
I was sure you'd come back. 

Added: Mar 10 2005 | Viewed: 1132 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Anna Akhmatova
Poem: White Night

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