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Call me a sinner, Mock me maliciously: I was your insomnia, I was your grief.

Anna Akhmatova

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Anna Akhmatova
Age: 76 †
Born: 1889
Born: June 23
Died: 1966
Died: March 5
Author
Literary Critic
Literary Scholar
Poet
Translator
Writer
Odesa
Anna Andreyevna Gorenko
Anna Achmatova
Anna Ahmatova
Anna Gorenko
Anna Andreevna Gorenko
Anna Andreevna Akhmatova
Call
Maliciously
Insomnia
Mock
Sinner
Grief

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Not, not mine: it's somebody else's wound I could never have borne it. So take the thing that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground whisk the lamps away.
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Give me bitter years of sickness, Suffocation, insomnia, fever, Take my child and my lover, And my mysterious gift of song This I pray at your liturgy After so many tormented days, So that the stormcloud over darkened Russia Might become a cloud of glorious rays.
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Rising from the past, my shadow Is running in silence to meet me.
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The triumphs of a mysterious non-meeting are desolate ones unspoken phrases, silent words.
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All that I am hangs by a thread tonight
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And it seemed to me that there were fires Flying till dawn without number And I never found out things-those Strange eyes of his-what colour? Everything trembling and singing and Were you my enemy or my friend, Winter was it or summer?
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I seem to myself, as in a dream, Am accidental guest in this dreadful body.
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That was when the ones who smiled Were the dead, glad to be at rest.
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