Twenty-First. Night. Monday
Twenty-first. Night. Monday.
Silhouette of the capitol in darkness.
Some good-for-nothing who knows why
Made up the tale that love exists on earth.
People believe it, maybe from laziness
Or boredom, and live accordingly:
They wait eagerly for meetings, fear parting,
And when they sing, they sing about love.
But the secret reveals itself to some,
And on them silence settles down…
I found this out by accident
And now it seems I’m sick all the time.
Similar poems:
- Under Her Dark Veil Under her dark veil she wrung her hands. “Why are you so pale today?” “Because I made him drink of […]...
- Why Is This Age Worse…? Why is this age worse than earlier ages? In a stupor of grief and dread Have we not fingered the […]...
- Solitude So many stones have been thrown at me, That I’m not frightened of them anymore, And the pit has become […]...
- Thunder There will be thunder then. Remember me. Say ‘ She asked for storms.’ The entire World will turn the colour […]...
- You Will Hear Thunder You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the […]...
- Lot’s Wife And the just man trailed God’s shining agent, Over a black mountain, in his giant track, While a restless voice […]...
- Requiem Not under foreign skies Nor under foreign wings protected – I shared all this with my own people There, where […]...
- How can you bear to look at the Neva? How can you bear to look at the Neva? How can you bear to cross the bridges?. Not in vain […]...
- Crucifix Do not cry for me, Mother, seeing me in the grave. I This greatest hour was hallowed and thandered By […]...
- Celebrate Celebrate our anniversary – can’t you see Tonight the snowy night of our first winter Comes back again in every […]...
- You Thought I Was That Type You thought I was that type: That you could forget me, And that I’d plead and weep And throw myself […]...
- March Elegy I have enough treasures from the past To last me longer than I need, or want. You know as well […]...
- I hear the oriole’s always-grieving voice I hear the oriole’s always-grieving voice, And the rich summer’s welcome loss I hear In the sickle’s serpentine hiss Cutting […]...
- White Night There will be thunder then. Remember me. Say ‘ She asked for storms.’ The entire World will turn the colour […]...
- Everything Everything’s looted, betrayed and traded, Black death’s wing’s overhead. Everything’s eaten by hunger, unsated, So why does a light shine […]...
- I Taught Myself To Live Simply I taught myself to live simply and wisely, To look at the sky and pray to God, And to wander […]...
- Lying in me Lying in me, as though it were a white Stone in the depths of a well, is one Memory that […]...
- In Memory of M. B Here is my gift, not roses on your grave, Not sticks of burning incense. You lived aloof, maintaining to the […]...
- The Sentence And the stone word fell On my still-living breast. Never mind, I was ready. I will manage somehow. Today I […]...
- For Osip Mandelstam And the town is frozen solid in a vice, Trees, walls, snow, beneath a glass. Over crystal, on slippery tracks […]...
- Willow And I grew up in patterned tranquillity, In the cool nursery of the young century. And the voice of man […]...
- Memory Of Sun Memory of sun seeps from the heart. Grass grows yellower. Faintly if at all the early snowflakes Hover, hover. Water […]...
- I Don’t Know If You’re Alive Or Dead I don’t know if you’re alive or dead. Can you on earth be sought, Or only when the sunsets fade […]...
- I Wrung My Hands I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . . “Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?” Because I […]...
- Sunbeam I pray to the sunbeam from the window – It is pale, thin, straight. Since morning I have been silent, […]...