solong Poetry (35)

You take my time to fill an empty yours.

You come to meet me not to stay alone.

You eat with me and say you aren't hungry,

You sleep with me and say you don't love me.


My passion is tiring for you

My thirst for life is boring for you

What do you want from me?

To take my time to fill an empty yours?

You take my soul,

But it does not fill an empty yours.

Every morning for several years I wake up to reality which strikes with a pain.
Unbearable.
I have no man to protect me, so I invented the guardian.
I draw an image of him in my mind and shield my pain with it.
He comforts me, he makes me feel safe, he cares for me, he loves me. Pain goes, he brings life into me.
I am ready to get up and face the day.

The days are so long.
It is not true that time is running: it is crawling from one court decree to another, and there are so many mornings behind and ahead with a pain to strike.
I go through the day talking in my mind to this invented guardian, the only friend I have.
I can't afford the real friends, their lives are not prepared for the trouble I live in.
Their questions about my child only place a salt on my wound, their pity does not comfort, it pushes me into solitude.

Another day coming to an end.
Time to go sleep is a tough time too.
My mind controls my emotions when it is fully awake, but when it is just awaking or relaxed going to sleep, the control fails and I feel it all.
Immediately I draw the image of my guardian to shield the pain. He embraces me and caress me to sleep,
I feel safe in his arms.
I always sleep good.

If not for him I would not survive so long.
He keeps me alive for a number of years.

I tried to meet people but the image of my guardian dominates, it is strong and powerful, no ordinary person can compete with it.

And there is a real man, whose image I took.
I have never told him who is he for me.
He lives his life and has a very little space for me in it.
When I see him in person I feel that the line between the dreams and reality fades.
He looks at me like he knows more than he wants to say.
When I talk to him I look in his eye and I wonder what runs through his mind at times when he is waking up or falling asleep.
Does he know?

He looks at me, holding tears,
And he can't set his eyes off mine.
After counting days in fears
That this moment will not come.

He says violin was last lesson,
Though he played very good each time
But dad said violin is danger,
It gives dust which will make him blind.

He asks me to see his ear,
If there is a hole in his head,
And if he would be wearing glasses
Dust will go in ears to blind his eyes just the same.

He says that his bird must be crying for him,
And when asked what the message to pass
He asks to tell to the bird only this:
"I am afraid he will never come".

He says that he was not crying,
And he hides to dry up his eyes.
He says he was born from my tummy
And asks if to me he looks nice.

Is there a place on your chest
For my soul to rest?

Is there a place on your palm hand
For my life to dwell?

Is there a place in your heart
To wrap me up?

Is there a word in the world
To bring you where you belong?

don't push me away, let me be

let me fly, let me love, let me live

I am in, I will never leave

don't push me away, touch my skin

feel me shivering, feel me belonged

feel me longing for you so long

Let me in, I am knocking your door,
Heaven's wooden protection.
Passion holds my throat
Mind controls my actions.


I know it can control,
It did so for years.
It will not give me away
To searching eyes and ears.


Let me remove your fears.


Let me speak, I will mean every word
I will be with you, I will care
I'll spoil you and never stop
I'll gently inhale you


I'll slowly touch your skin
Feel you close for a tiny moment
I'll fly, I'll live my dream,
I'll take you above it


Let me in, I am knocking your door,
Heaven's wooden protection.
Passion holds my throat
Mind controls my actions.

Why is that quinsy’s mouth red like fire?
Isn’t it because it’s chewing betel?
Let the new fiancée of my father
Hurry up so they can meet each other
He’ll extend to her a hearty welcome,
Welcome her with rice, he will not hit her.
It’s my mother who will poke her eyes out,
She will rip the guts out of her stomach.

Nikolai Gumilev

Hey, give me your paw, so I would have good luck!
I have not seen a paw like that for ages
Lets sit together quietly and bark,
Bark at the moon at stillness of the night

Hey, give me your paw, so I would have good luck!
Come on you silly, don’t lick my fingers
You don’t know what my life is like
And if it is worth a dime; and I don’t know either

Your owner is so famous and cool
His friendly home is always full of guests
And every one of them is smiling like a fool
And tries to pet you by your plushy fur

You are a devilishly handsome dog
You are so pleasantly naïve and fun
Without asking anyone a thing
As if you’re drunk, you’re kissing everyone

My dear dog, among your fancy guests
All kinds of different people you can find
And what about her, who got so quiet recently and sad,
Has she by any chance stopped by?

She will, my dog, I promise you she will
Please in my absence look into her eyes
And kiss her hand with tenderness I feel
And ask her to forgive me for the things I’ve done...
And things I have not done

He did love three things in this world:
Choir chants at vespers, albino peacocks,
And worn, weathered maps of America.
And he did not love children crying,
Or tea served with raspberries,
Or woman's hysteria.
...And I was his wife.




Anna Akhmatova

There are the words that couldn’t be twice said,
He, who said once, spent out all his senses.
Only two things have never their end –
The heavens’ blue and the Creator’s mercy.



Anna Akhmatova

Although this land is not my own,
I will remember its inland sea
and the waters that are so cold
the sand as white
as old bones, the pine trees
strangely red where the sun comes down.

I cannot say if it is our love,
or the day, that is ending.



Anna Akhmatova

But listen, I am warning you
I'm living for the very last time.
Not as a swallow, nor a maple,
Not as a reed, nor as a star,
Not as spring water,
Nor as the toll of bells…
Will I return to trouble men
Nor will I vex their dreams again
With my insatiable moans.




Anna Akhmatova