Анна БАТЛЕР | Поэзия


That powerful body of yours
I’ll never embrace in my arms.
My home is abandoned and cold
Under the clouds.
Your eyes I’ll never close shut
With a palm of my welcoming hand,
I’ll never forget you, my dear,
A grain of memorial sand.
Your image is close to my heart,
I keep it while grasping the air,
While walking the narrowest path
No matter if you are still there.
I still hear the words you’ve said,
I still hear the rustling leaves,
That almost vertigo state
And us in the morning breeze.
Back then I wanted to love,
I was in a rush to get by,
I wanted to close my eyes
But have to open them now.
My soul is all that is left
In prairies of emerald jewels
I’m walking and counting my steps
And all that surrounds me are ruins.

Three Sheets

Three sheets of a lonely sadness,
6 pages of deafening gloom,
Three sheets that engaged us in madness,
6 pages — a bride and a groom…
Three sheets — is it much, is it little…
Is all that remains after us,
Is all that was fragile and brittle,
It all wasn’t destined to last.
Three sheets and the love is in ashes.
The spark, it is gone from your eyes.
All gone in a sequence of flashes,
We paid an impossible price.
Three sheets — not enough for a novel,
It’s gone, it is ruined to bits
My mind in a desolate hovel,
My soul on these three faded sheets.

On Deathbed

Touch my shoulder, my old friend
When all your life is done.
When laughing at your life’s descent
You try to settle down.
You touch my cold and lifeless lips
While smiling through a frown,
You read my last poetic scripts
And then in tears you drown.
Please touch me, my old friend, please do,
Your last and lucky chance.
You’ll feel my fire bursting through
Its last ecstatic dance.
Please touch my tired head, so cold
Its temples silver-lined.
Do not forget the locks of gold
And depth inside my eyes!
Stay with me till the morning hour,
Until the very end.
The wind has blown away my crown
What’s left for me, my friend?
The last thing that I have to say
Before I become past,
Is how I’ve waited for this day,
For you to come at last.
I’ve waited for you, now you’re here
Like many years ago,
But our youth has disappeared,
It melted with the snow.
My temples now are grey and cold,
My face is wrinkled too,
My hands are tired, all is old
My eyes are sad and blue.
But though I am fading in your eyes
Please don’t feel bad for me!
No sorrow for my own demise,
My fire will be free.
Please touch my hands, they are so cold
With your senescent hand!
Now that I’m free, nothing to hold
I’m ready to ascend.

About the author:

Anna Butler, was born on May 16th 1981 into a family of two young engineers. When she was three, her parents filed for divorce, and Anna moved to East Germany (GDR) with her mother, where they settled in a place called Bernau. While in Russia, Anna was raised by her grandmothers (both maternal and paternal) who had a major influence on her taste in literature. Education: Lomonosov Moscow State University, Faculty of Psychology, Department of Neuropsychology and Psychopathology. Anna started writing in 1995 and continues up until today.

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