Osip Mandelshtam
The Last Supper

Supper sky fell in love with a bulwark
All is slashed with pink scars of light threads —
Having fallen upon it was thrown back
And transformed into thirteen odd heads.
There you are, my nighty-night heaven,
Like a young boy I’m here to face you —
Chills run down my back, eyes are straining
Catching trebuchet stones as they flew.
And with every new strike of the siege ram
In the sky falling stars lose their eyes —
Same old supper adorned with new lesions,
Murky fresco's unfinished surmise.

Translated by Dina Belyayeva