Anna Achmatova

POSTED IN classic poetry July 12, 2015

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1911

 
A riding whip, a glove wait on the table
God knows why. Who left them there?
One window’s open a little
I hear the linden rustle.

They seem to call me.
Why did you leave? I
can’t understand it. Why?
The desk lamp’s cosy circle-

it focuses the pain, it lets me see again
two people shielded from the world
by love’s illusion: if it lasts we can’t die.
Think of us. Who were we?

Tomorrow morning’s light will soothe me
like a warm hand. I know it.
I know this life is good.
Heart, don’t worry-

Last night I could barely hear
that hesitant, aching plea you’ve begun to make
I was reading in an old book
that souls are immortal.

Anna Achmatova