Desiring

[TH3GHOSTWAFFL3 489]

DESIRING

 

 

POEMS BY

CECILYA SMIRNOVA

1859 | 412 ES

 

—

 

Love is a poor actor

Always forgetting his lines,

Tripping over himself,

But anyone who has ever loved

Cannot say that

He does not plunge 

Headfirst into his role

 

—

 

The yearning of the heart

Is the most deepest of desires.

Anyone can be

The object of my yearning.

Each one is always special,

But desiring in itself

Is the most desirable thing of all.

 

—

 

Have you ever walked out

Amongst the fenland

And seen the pale pink

Fingers of the sunset 

Gently reach across the sky,

So you can almost feel

Them stroke your cheek

 

And have you gone down

To the dark, glass surface,

And felt the waters

Lap gently at the edges of 

Your face and smiled,

Feeling drops trickle down

And collect around your lips 

 

And sat down on the ridgeline 

Sighing softly to the horizon

As the swans fly across,

Smelt snowdrops and jasmine, then

Twisted them into a little ring

Of delicate and pretty petals,

And drank all this in with your gaze

 

—

 

I draw my finger across his face

Gently tracing every contour

Along his cheek and chin,

I pull his jaw close to me;

He is a sculpture. His

Black, curly hair, 

velvet lashes,

Green eyes.

Is this not bliss?

But nothing lasts and

This too cannot. Though

My hate simmers for her,

The heart yet cannot lie, and 

Time polishes all desires and

Now I dream such golden dreams

Of him.

 

—

 

Enough wine and

There is little distinction 

Between a common harlot

And a noble lady

Wine tears off all veils 

And the blemish

Becomes the beauty-spot 

And the latter the former 

And the former the latter 

 

—