Bella Akhmadulina
Click. The bullet was engaged...

Click. The bullet was engaged.
The wild candle settled down.
Oh how sorely he had aged.
How long all this had gone on.

Frontiers of old age fell as
he remembered far off days —
his old regimental colours
all the glitter, all the noise.

Old age brings no happiness.
He trudged, trudged out yesterday
for a look at the First ice.
There he loitered, solitary.

Then he started off for home:
heavy footsteps slowed and slowed.
Suddenly in front of him
stood this woman — oh my God:

back it all came — long ago
thunderstorm and deep footprints
and her shoulderline cut low
trimmed with a white cambric flounce.

Why for her here in this spring
was that spring beyond recall?
Eyes so full of suffering
she stood simply by the wall.

So, the mortal shot will boom
rattling the vodka glasses
and his wife's big hand will slam
on the coffin when he passes.

Reading of it in the paper
up will come his shameless friend.
For the solace of the weeper
he will kiss the weeper's hand.

It will pour a drink for him
and his casual glance will range
round to where some medals gleam
on a cushion, dead and strange.

Translated by Keith Bosley, Dimitry Pospielovsky and Janis Sapiets