From: ibshambat@gmail.com   
      
   There, where a million lampade-stars   
   Burn in the face of ancient time,   
   Where evening ringing's sweet to heart,   
   Where towers are in love with sky;   
   There, where in shade of airy folds   
   Transparent-white wander the dreams,   
   I fathomed meaning of old riddles,   
   A moon-believer I became.   
      
   In madness, with a fitful breathing,   
   To know all to the root sought I:   
   To what mysterious suffering   
   The queen is given in the sky   
   And why to homes from ancient years   
   She tenderly leans, all alone...   
   What on the earth they call betrayal -   
   All has been stated by the moon.   
      
   Amid the blankets with silk sowed   
   By windows of grim palaces,   
   The tired queens I did behold,   
   A quiet call within their eyes.   
   I saw how in the ancient stories   
   The swords, the crown, the coat of arms,   
   The light from ancient sickle pouring   
   In someone's childish, childish eyes.   
      
   Oh how many eyes had stared   
   From these windows after him with angst,   
   And how many did he lure   
   There, where is peace and happiness!   
   I saw the nuns that were in pallor,   
   Children that had rejected earth,   
   And in the holy, holy prayers   
   The fire of passion I have caught.   
   “I want to live! Wherefore is God?” -   
   I asked in wandering of eyes;   
   And in the mourning clothes' folds   
   Bound for the moon long, heavy sigh.   
      
   Tell me, O moon, why they had woe   
   The prison of their rooms within?   
   For whose sake perished without glory   
   The slave girls with the souls of queens,   
   That from their deaf sleeping chambers   
   Would tear into the fields of green?   
   And sorrowful was the moon's answer   
   Beside the wall of sad Kremlin.   
      
   By Marina Tsvetayeva   
   Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)