Orchard
For this hell,
For this toll,
Gimme an orchard
When I’m old.
When I’m old,
Aged with grief,
When I’m tired
Of hunchback years…
When I’m old,
Gimme a treasure,
For the scorched years –
a cool pleasure…
For a fugitive,
Give an orchard,
To a faceless one,
Give a fortune.
With no overseers,
With no ears,
With no wanderers,
And no sneers
Can the orchard be
A trade-off for pain?
Just a lonesome place,
For a lonesome fate.
Just an orchard place,
For my ending rest,
Or, perhaps, the space
For my future quest?
— Marina Tsvetaeva,
1st September 1934
(Translated by Victor Postnikov)
Tags: Marina Tsvetaeva, poem, Victor Postnikov