epilogue.

I learned to know how faces fall apart,

How fear, beneath the eye-lids, seeks,

How strict the cutting blade, the art

That suffering etches in the cheeks.

How the black, the ash-blond hair,

In an instant turned to silver,

Learned how submissive lips fared,

Learned terror’s dry racking laughter.

Not only for myself I pray,

But for all who stood there, all,

In bitter cold, or burning July day,

Beneath that red, blind prison wall.

[anna akhmatova]

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s