Anna Akhmatova
Pray for my poor, puzzled soul...

Pray for my poor, puzzled soul,
the lost soul still living in me—
you, who’ve always known your path in life;
wherever you are, mansion or hut,
you bring your own world with you.

Just say a prayer for me now,
you’ll have my sad gratitude;
last night was a kind of delirium,
I couldn’t be more exhausted from it now
if I’d been literally drunk,
nor could morning be more chillingly real
if I’d woken in a world turned to ice.

I never understood how things really work,
all I knew was what I dreamed might be,
patient and hopeful. But I never hated
a brother in my heart,
or betrayed a sister’s trust—

so why has God punished me like this?
Why do I suffer every hour of the day?
Is this an angel sent to correct me,
to disenchant me with this world
and point me to the other, the unseen?

Translated by Seraphina Powell