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More poems by Anna AkhmatovaAnna Akhmatova | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (2) | Books by Anna AkhmatovaBooks by Anna Akhmatova

Twenty-First. Night. Monday

Anna Akhmatova

Twenty-first. Night. Monday.
Silhouette of the capitol in darkness.
Some good-for-nothing -- who knows why --
made up the tale that love exists on earth.

People believe it, maybe from laziness
or boredom, and live accordingly:
they wait eagerly for meetings, fear parting,
and when they sing, they sing about love.

But the secret reveals itself to some,
and on them silence settles down...
I found this out by accident
and now it seems I'm sick all the time.

Added: 19 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 19 Jan 2018 12:39 AM | Viewed: 8091 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/9/ | Viewed on 18 January 2018.
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