Leaves Of Ash Poem by Abraham Sutzkever

I

I warm tea with your letters —
My only treasure,
Thin leaves of ash remain,
Sprinkled with glowworms
That I alone can read, can ask:
I warm tea with your letters,
My only treasure?

Let the wind be mute as a tombstone!
Let my shadow stand still!
One puff—
And all your healing beauty
Will stir jealousy
On all the roads.

How dear are you to me in leaves of ash,
How shining do you die in leaves of ash,
That I alone can read, can ask:
I warm tea with your letters,
My only treasure?

II

Above — in a death swordplay, metal pirates
Spit whistling arrows into the heart of the moon.

Below, on a hill, among white tobacco flowers
A woman twisting on pain-and-wonder of birth.

'Who will help? '—'Hush, hush…' And her beloved
Weeps the glimmer of his eyes in the dust at her feet.

'My child, melody of my love, play on inside me, don't rush,
You are merely flesh and dream, and reality—is murder.'

Slices of light swallow the fields. Fish in rivers scream.
The earth trembles along with the woman.

'Ghosts of death, don't dare touch, I beseech you…'
'Hush, hush, I am the armor against all evil.'

Suddenly … like a piano playing among hordes of thunder,
A voice of a child slices through. And this sound —

(Whence the strength?) subjugates all fears,
And the love of the world turns the dew red.

III

Soon it will happen!
The black hoops
Grow tighter and tighter around my neck!
Impersonally, like a stone in a brook,
I shall remain lying under hooves,
Redeemed from the world.
But deep inside me —
Three ants still stray:
One,
― 125 ―

Under the laurel of my childhood —
Will return to magicland.
The second,
Under the armor of my dream —
Will return to dreamland.
The third,
The one who carries my word —
Will have no path,
For the land of believing words
Is covered with plague.
In the valley of shadows, it will watch,
Alone and solitary,
Over my bones.