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The Guest
Everything is as it used to be: there is fine sharp snow Hitting at the windows of the dining room, And I myself haven't become new, But a man came to me. I asked: " What do you want?" He said, "To be with you in hell." I laughed: " You'll predict us both, possibly, bad luck." But having raised his withered hand, He lightly touched the flowers. "Tell me how they kiss you, Tell me how you kiss." And the eyes watching blankly, Didn't move from my ring. Not a muscle moved In his serenely angry face. Oh, I know his joy-- To know hard and passionately, That he doesn't need anything from me, That I have nothing that I can refuse him.
by Anna Akhmatova |