Marina Tsvetaeva: To B. Pasternak

Dis-tances: miles, versts…
They dis-pelled us until we dis-persed,
So we would act as we were told
In two corners of the world.

Dis-tances: versts, spaces…
They dislocated us, they displaced us,
They disjoined us, crucified on display,
And observed to their dismay,

How sinew and ideas soldered…
Without discord, - just in disorder,
Disconnected by a wall and a dike.
They disbanded us like

Eagles-conspirators: versts, spaces…
Not disunited, - they disarrayed us.
Across the slums of the globe’s range
As if orphans, we’re disarranged.

For how many Marches, have our hearts
Been cut like a deck of cards?!

March 24, 1925


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