Anna Akhmatova: A Belated Reply

My white-fingered one, my dark princess. 
Marina Tsvetaeva


My double and my jester, unseen,
You who hide at the heart of bushes,
Who nestle in the house of the stare,
Who flit among cemetery crosses.
Who call from the Marinkina Tower:
‘Here I am, I’m home today.
Cherish me, my own fields,
Because of everything I suffered.
My loved ones lost in the abyss,
My native country despoiled.’
Today we are together, Marina,
Crossing the midnight capital,
With all those millions behind us,
And never a more voiceless crew,
Walking to the sound of funeral bells,
And to the savage, Moscow moaning
Of wind and snow, erasing our steps.

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