Friday, October 21, 2011

a poem

I bear equally with you
the black permanent seperation.
Why are you crying?  Rather give me your hand
promise to come again in a dream.
You and I are a mountain of grief
You and I will never meet on this earth.
If only you could send me at midnight
a greeting through the stars.

                            by

Anna Akhmatova    (via John Berger)

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