Anna Akhmatova
Petrograd, 1919

And we’ve forgotten till doomsdays,
In the wild capital — our prison —
The towns, steppes, dawns and lakes
Of our great land, as if in treason.
In a bloody circle, day and night,
We’re pined by the abusive leisure…
And none to help us in our plight,
Because we’ve stayed at Home, treasured,
Because, with love fully obsessed,
Instead of liberty, that honors,
We have preserved for ourselves
Its palaces, its flames and waters.

They’re closer — the other times.
And deathly wind cools hearts, our own,
But Peter’s-city, to all us,
Will be the sanctified tombstone.

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver