Ashes of Our Time
(for Anna Akhmatova)
You’ll see my body, ages past, drawn to itself in strident winds, at the center of the raging conflagration we called ours.
When I start down the avenue lined with our history's truth, I trust that you will guard with care the ashes I can't claim.
Survivors, now in different corners unknown, nurse the memories we felt then. Weather now holds promises, the dank cells held none, only sweat, congealed blood. When you look at the moon you look into the future we did not have. Let the moon illuminate your way to sun swept field, a calm sea welcome you.
Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and cries of the tortured.
Black Marias careened with their human load, destination death. We met to console each other, understanding that Russian speech was our true homeland. Dementia thrived in our suffering.
Only the corpses displayed frozen grins, chains finally unfastened. Our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the jackboots
I am working on the annhiliation of all emotion. I am weaving a dark shawl to protect our memories. I remember the words you all spoke behind bars out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces and movements peculiar to each of you.
I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there, for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends; together you moan and scream through my mind.
Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea nor in Litenyi, but there in front of the steel doors where I stood for hundreds of hours and no one slid open the bolt,
where the shrill cries of an old woman still echo through us. I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva. The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever.
(2nd rev.) I am weaving a dark mantle to protect our memories. I remember the words you all spoke out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces and movements peculiar to each of you.
I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there, for me to return to, when I want to summon you, my dearest friends; together you moan and scream through my mouth, I will be remembered in this way.
Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea nor in Litenyi, but there in front of the steel doors where I stood for hundreds of hours and no one slid open the bolt. Where the shrill almost ecstatic cries of an old woman still echo through us.
I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva.
The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever.
You’ll see my body, ages past, drawn into itself on brittle winds, at the center of the raging conflagration we called ours. When I start down the road lined with our history's truth, I trust that you will guard with care the ashes I can't claim.
Yes, love, time-worn brittle winds will call to mind the conflagration; you’ll feel my body, drawn into itself, raging, as we struggled through.
Then, I’ll walk along the avenue lined with our history’s truth; and I trust that you will guard with care the ashes I can’t claim.
Ashes of Our Time (for Anna Akhmatova) In memory you will feel winds carry my body, drawn into itself, to the center of the conflagration, raging, as we struggled through.
When I start down the road lined with our history's truth, I trust that you will guard with care the ashes I can't claim.
(original)
On the brittle winds of memory you will see my body drawn into itself where, the conflagration we were the center of, rages.
When I start down the road lined with our history's truth, I trust that you will guard with care, the ashes I can't claim.
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