Chalky white sun...

Chalky white sun, and the clouds are hovering low,
After the gardens, the graveyard behind a white wall.
Strawmen are thrown one after one in the fencerow
Under the tomb crosses - gallow bars shoulder-tall.

Then, leaning over the sticks of the fence, I am viewing
Roadways, trees, soldiers scattered around aspread,
Old woman near a gate door chewing and chewing
Salted with coarse grains her infinite piece of rye bread.

Did they offend you, oh Lord, those bleached shaky hovels,
Whose for conviction and guilt many get shot in the chest?
Passing by, howled the train, and the soldiers howled,
Dust rose, dust on the road of retreat to no rest.

Nuh, better die! Better never get born than endure
All those helpless and hand-cuffed and hell-bound wails
For raven-browed brides. Bear it, this is the pure
Soldiers' song of our days! Take my soul away!


Original: www.tsvetayeva.com/poems/belojesolnce