By Margarita Aliger
(1946)
The flame of an oil burner flickers.
Just Dickens and I, here at home.
Before us burns down, in the darkness,
Of great expectations the glow.
Poor Pip, and his youth, and its reaching
For happiness, how they would sprawl!
...No sound, not a creak in this building,
It's sullen and silent. The war.
How long ago, here in this house,
So brightly chimed voices? How long?
Through pain, spurning blindness, in distance
I'm watching bright sails coming on.
My freedom, my own, oh my golden!
Won't let you get strangled with dread!
The forty-first year is concluding,
And fascists near Moscow decamp.
Shoot thunders of nearby battles.
Our great expectations now rise.
Petrishevo village square. Zoya
Braves forth, facing early demise.
And we cannot save her from torture,
Nor feed her some water, nor aid...
Around us the missiles keep scorching.
Then deep silent night. The blockade.
The menacing contours of houses,
No door-crack, no glimmer in sight.
And only of great expectations
A heartwarming shimmering light.
Where are you, my lover begrieving?
Return for a glance, through my verse,
For I'm now forgetting the features
Of those tattered strands, that were yours.
First dates, brought across my remembrance
Still brighten a cruelest end.
Oh, bonfires of great expectations!
A throbbing of hearts well-entrapped!
Whatever our destinies draw us,
Whatever our futures may throw...
Poor Pip, and his youth, and its reaching!
Of great expectations the glow!