Anna Akhmatova

To us, separation is just entertainment,
The woes are dull without us.
Whether a drunk fame would loom in our chamber,
Or thirteen hour would thrust?
Or just forgot, browbeat … What’s a row?
Who makes at doors such a fight?
I’m to go back to my gate, anyhow,
To bid a new woe inside.  


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2002