Anna Akhmatova (23 June 1889 – 5 March 1966 / Odessa)
Everything’s looted, betrayed and traded,
black death’s wing’s overhead.
Everything’s eaten by hunger, unsated,
so why does a light shine ahead?
By day, a mysterious wood, near the town,
breathes out cherry, a cherry perfume.
By night, on July’s sky, deep, and transparent,
new constellations are thrown.
And something miraculous will come
close to the darkness and ruin,
something no-one, no-one, has known,
though we’ve longed for it since we were children.
Poet Other Poems
- A widow in black
- Alexander By Thebes
- Along the hard crust of deep snows
- And as it's Going
- And you, my friends who have been called...
- As a white stone in the well's cool deep...
- But Listen, I Am Warning You
- For Osip Mandelstam
- Gray-Eyed King
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.