Anna Akhmatova

Forgotten? I’m not even wondered!
Forgotten was I hundred times,
And times, I’m in grave, were too hundred, 
May be, my corps now there lies.
And Muse was too deafened and blinded,
Was rotting – a seed – in soils’ mesh,
To rise then to blue of the Highland 
Like Phoenix from blackness of ash


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2002