Author: Marina Tsvetaeva

In the sweet, Atlantic Breathing of spring My curtain’s like a butterfly, Huge, fluttering Like a Hindu widow To a […]

These are ashes of treasures: Of hurt and loss. These are ashes in face of which Granite is dross. Dove, […]

Much like me, you make your way forward, Walking with downturned eyes. Well, I too kept mine lowered. Passer-by, stop […]

The demon in me’s not dead, He’s living, and well. In the body as in a hold, In the self […]

In the old Strauss waltz for the first time We had listened to your quiet call, Since then all the […]