Three Poems by Anna Akhmatova

My voice is weak, but will does not get weaker. 
It has become still better without love, 
The sky is tall, the mountain wind is blowing  
My thoughts are sinless to true God above. 

The sleeplessness has gone to other places, 
I do not on grey ashes count my sorrow, 
And the skewed arrow of the clock face 
Does not look to me like a deadly arrow. 

How past over the heart is losing power! 
Freedom is near. I will forgive all yet, 
Watching, as ray of sun runs up and down 
The springtime vine that with spring rain is wet.

*******************

I remember you only rarely 
And your fate I do not review 
But the mark won't be stripped from my soul 
Of the meaningless meeting with you.  

Your red house I avoid on purpose, 
Your red house murky river beside, 
But I know, that I am disturbing 
Gravely your heart-pierced respite.  

Would it weren't you that, on my lips pressing, 
Prayed of love, and for love did wish, 
Would it weren't you that with golden verses 
Immortalized my anguish  

Over future I do secret magic 
If the evening is truly blue, 
And I divine a second meeting, 
Unavoidable meeting with you.

*******************

Whether to look for you on earth - 
I don't know if you're dead or you live - 
Or about you in the evening 
I should for you, departed, grieve.  

All is for you: and the daily prayer 
And the sleeplessness' swooning flame 
And the white flock of my poems 
And my eyes' blue violent flame.  

No one was dearer to me, no one, 
No one left me this bereft, 
Not even he who betrayed me to torment, 
Not even he who caressed, then left. 

By Anna Akhmatova
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat
https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat