Anna Akhmatova
The black road was winding slowly...

The black road was winding slowly,
And a drizzle started,
Someone asked if they could walk me
Home, before we parted.
I accepted, still afraid to
Look at him at all,
It became so strange, days later,
To recall that stroll.
Fog was spreading out like incense
From a thousand censers,
And he sang with such persistence
That my heart grew tenser.
The ancient gate was open slightly,
Here, our path would end.
There, the one who walked beside me,
Said: “Forgive me, friend…”
A copper cross, as though my brother,
He then handed me,
And everywhere I go, I start to
Hear his melody.
Oh, my home is not my own —
I lament and rue.
Answer, stranger yet unknown,
I am seeking you. 

Translated by Andrey Kneller