Anna Akhmatova Short Poems | Poetry

Famous Short Anna Akhmatova Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Anna Akhmatova. A collection of the all-time best Anna Akhmatova short poems

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Anna Akhmatova | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Anna Akhmatova

I Dont Like Flowers..

I don't like flowers - they do remind me often
Of funerals, of weddings and of balls;
Their presence on tables for a dinner calls.
But sub-eternal roses' ever simple charm Which was my solace when I was a child, Has stayed - my heritage - a set of years behind, Like Mozart's ever-living music's hum.


by Anna Akhmatova

And As Its Going..

An as it's going often at love's breaking,
The ghost of first days came again to us,
The silver willow through window then stretched in,
The silver beauty of her gentle branches.
The bird began to sing the song of light and pleasure To us, who fears to lift looks from the earth, Who are so lofty, bitter and intense, About days when we were saved together.


by Anna Akhmatova

Sunbeam

 I pray to the sunbeam from the window - 
It is pale, thin, straight.
Since morning I have been silent, And my heart - is split.
The copper on my washstand Has turned green, But the sunbeam plays on it So charmingly.
How innocent it is, and simple, In the evening calm, But to me in this deserted temple It's like a golden celebration, And a consolation.


by Anna Akhmatova

Crucifix

I
This greatist hour was hallowed and thandered
By  angel's choirs;  fire melted sky.
He asked his Father:"Why am I abandoned.
.
.
?" And told his Mother: "Mother, do not cry.
.
.
" II Magdalena struggled, cried and moaned.
Piter sank into the stone trance.
.
.
Only there, where Mother stood alone, None has dared cast a single glance.


by Anna Akhmatova

Memory Of Sun

 Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
Grass grows yellower.
Faintly if at all the early snowflakes Hover, hover.
Water becoming ice is slowing in The narrow channels.
Nothing at all will happen here again, Will ever happen.
Against the sky the willow spreads a fan The silk's torn off.
Maybe it's better I did not become Your wife.
Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
What is it? -- Dark? Perhaps! Winter will have occupied us In the night.


by Anna Akhmatova

The Sentence

 And the stone word fell
On my still-living breast.
Never mind, I was ready.
I will manage somehow.
Today I have so much to do: I must kill memory once and for all, I must turn my soul to stone, I must learn to live again-- Unless .
.
.
Summer's ardent rustling Is like a festival outside my window.
For a long time I've foreseen this Brilliant day, deserted house.


by Anna Akhmatova

Everything

 Everything’s looted, betrayed and traded,
black death’s wing’s overhead.
Everything’s eaten by hunger, unsated, so why does a light shine ahead? By day, a mysterious wood, near the town, breathes out cherry, a cherry perfume.
By night, on July’s sky, deep, and transparent, new constellations are thrown.
And something miraculous will come close to the darkness and ruin, something no-one, no-one, has known, though we’ve longed for it since we were children.


by Anna Akhmatova

You Will Hear Thunder

 You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms.
The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.
That day in Moscow, it will all come true, when, for the last time, I take my leave, And hasten to the heights that I have longed for, Leaving my shadow still to be with you.


by Anna Akhmatova

Along the Hard Crust..

Along the hard crust of deep snows,
To the secret, white house of yours,
So gentle and quiet – we both
Are walking, in silence half-lost.
And sweeter than all songs, sung ever, Are this dream, becoming the truth, Entwined twigs’ a-nodding with favor, The light ring of your silver spurs.
.
.


by Anna Akhmatova

Alexander By Thebes

I think, the king was fierce, though young,
When he proclaimed, “You’ll level Thebes with ground.
” And the old chief perceived this city proud, He’d seen in times that are in sagas sung.
Set all to fire! The king listed else The towers, the gates, the temples – rich and thriving… But sank in thoughts, and said with lighted face, “You just provide the Bard Home’s surviving.


by Anna Akhmatova

Thunder

 There will be thunder then.
Remember me.
Say ‘ She asked for storms.
’ The entire world will turn the colour of crimson stone, and your heart, as then, will turn to fire.
That day, in Moscow, a true prophecy, when for the last time I say goodbye, soaring to the heavens that I longed to see, leaving my shadow here in the sky.


by Anna Akhmatova

I Dont Know If Youre Alive Or Dead

 I don't know if you're alive or dead.
Can you on earth be sought, Or only when the sunsets fade Be mourned serenely in my thought? All is for you: the daily prayer, The sleepless heat at night, And of my verses, the white Flock, and of my eyes, the blue fire.
No-one was more cherished, no-one tortured Me more, not Even the one who betrayed me to torture, Not even the one who caressed me and forgot.


by Anna Akhmatova

Why Is This Age Worse...?

 Why is this age worse than earlier ages?
In a stupor of grief and dread
have we not fingered the foulest wounds
and left them unhealed by our hands?

In the west the falling light still glows,
and the clustered housetops glitter in the sun,
but here Death is already chalking the doors with crosses,
and calling the ravens, and the ravens are flying in.


by Anna Akhmatova

Under Her Dark Veil

 Under her dark veil she wrung her hands.
"Why are you so pale today?" "Because I made him drink of stinging grief Until he got drunk on it.
How can I forget? He staggered out, His mouth twisted in agony.
I ran down not touching the bannister And caught up with him at the gate.
I cried: 'A joke! That's all it was.
If you leave, I'll die.
' He smiled calmly and grimly And told me: 'Don't stand here in the wind.
' "


by Anna Akhmatova

How can you bear to look at the Neva?

 How can you bear to look at the Neva? 
How can you bear to cross the bridges?.
Not in vain am I known as the grieving one Since the time you appeared to me.
The black angels' wings are sharp, Judgment Day is coming soon, And raspberry-colored bonfires bloom, Like roses, in the snow.