The Moon In a Zenith

…from the quills of the dead white poets

Anna Akhmatova (1889 – 1966)

But nothing changed for ages here…
In the same way the divine lyre
Pours bliss from the eternal crests.

Same are the waters and stars’ throngs,
And endless bleakness of skies’ domes,
And flying seeds in airy flows,
And mothers sing the same sweet songs.

Forget all troublesome and cruel – 
It’s safe – my dear Asian home…
I’ll come once more. Let fences blossom
And pools be clear ones and full.
Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, 2002

About Paul Jacko

Jacko was born in Czechoslovakia not long before the communist putsch in February 1948. He studied industrial chemistry there and left in 1969 for Australia, where he became a lawyer and established his own practice. He has now retired and beside hunting, fishing, camping, prospecting and playing golf he amuses himself by writing.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to The Moon In a Zenith

  1. Iron fist says:

    That’s the way the cookies crumble. The moon waxes and wanes; and people die.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>