I knew: the gods turned once, in their madness,
Men into things, not killing humane senses.
You’ve been turned in to my reminiscences
To make eternal the unearthly sadness.

Anna Akhmatova

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We don't know how to say goodbye,
We wander on, shoulder to shoulder
Already the sun is going down
You're moody, and I am your shadow.
Let's step inside a church, hear prayers, masses for the dead
Why are we so different from the rest?
Outside in the graveyard we sit on a frozen branch.

That stick in your hand is tracing
Mansions in the snow in which we will always be together.

Anna Akhmatova

Mots clés poetry poem russian-poetry

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