In Dream
Black and enduring separation
I share equally with you.
Why weep? Give me your hand,
Promise me you will come again.
You and I are like high
Mountains and we can’t move closer.
Just send me word
At midnight sometimes through the stars.
So again we triumph!
Again we do not come!
Our speeches silent,
Our words, dumb.
Our eyes that have not met
Again, are lost;
And only tears forget
The grip of frost.
A wild-rose bush near Moscow
Knows something of
This pain that will be called
Immortal love.
Anna Akhmatova [1889-1966]
Translated by D. M. Thomas
Nehal's World : Growing Time…in Words! 
Beautiful poem whose two last lines are very moving! Thanks again for your visit on my blog and your very kind and beautiful words 🙂
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Thank you so much for your appreciation.
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