More poetry

Inna Lisynanskaya Translated by Karen Blomain and Maya Pertrukhina Three Pictures Above the jail the moon Drops tears through Cloudy lashes Beyond the black Dense bars A man’s face Melts like snow. The man is not free Bluebells strain Against glass Senseless mutiny Lilac blooms At the center of the table The flower is not free. The burning bush Hollow Barren Christ white-faced Taken from the cross The crucified are always free. untitled If you died A wolf would still be a wolf, Not a sheep. A snake, a snake, not a dove. And I would still love. I would become the rain. A willow crying over your tomb. untitled           Under the ominous shadow of stone trees                               —Ella Krjulova Nothing is foreign to me— Neither things long gone, Nor this regime. Neither the coals lost in ash, The twilight stars, The still sea, Nor the table’s dust. I came to learn How to live and how to die. I cannot enter the garden of justice Through another’s gate, With eyes burnt, stung with salt, And an orphan soul.