Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva

(8 October 1892 – 31 August 1941 / Moscow)

For my poems, written so early


For my poems, written so early
That I didn't even know I was a poet,
Hurled like drops from a fountain,
Like sparks from rockets,

That burst like tiny devils,
Into the sanctuary of sleep and incense,
For my poems about youth and death
-- For my unread poems!

Scattered in dusty bookstores,
Where no one ever buys them!
For my poems, like precious wines,
A time will come.

Submitted: Tuesday, April 13, 2010

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  • Gangadharan Nair Pulingat (4/16/2014 4:30:00 AM)

    It is often said that the earlier poems and stories of writers are least interested in that time and when fame and coverage is came the same poems and stories are most welcomed by the readers. The poet narrates her earlier poem which is not at all sold but kept in dust of shelf which is interesting. (Report) Reply

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