‘Yes, I am lying in the Ground
But my lips are moving' : OsipMandelstam
Your life was a blind alley
Of blacked out windows
Perpetually stuck in a winter of the soul
Tormented by Harpies
To ward off night terrors
In childhood, you gripped your grandfather's hand
My little black pearl
Your hopes were hammered out
On a hard anvil
The forge that beat your talents into ash
The family album's seared by your deletion
Memory's the only dog-eared page that sticks
Nobody ever strewed your bed with petals
Or opened your ears to the lark's ascending song
Death hounded you day to day
When all you ever wanted
Was a place at the hearth
A door wide open in welcome
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem