You Thought I Was That Type

You thought I was that type:
That you could forget me,
And that I'd plead and weep
And throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare,

Or that I'd ask the sorcerers
For some magic potion made from roots and send you a terrible gift:
My precious perfumed handkerchief.

Damn you! I will not grant your cursed soul
Vicarious tears or a single glance.

And I swear to you by the garden of the angels,
I swear by the miracle-working icon,
And by the fire and smoke of our nights:
I will never come back to you.

by Anna Akhmatova

Comments (6)

The ability to weep.. the strongest man too once he weeps thus his sorrow.. with calm and resolution restored can get back to his mundane chores.. lovely write.. thanks for sharing
'They can't stop him'. Nice work.
God bless Les Murray for his contribution to humanity!
A moment of transcendence, the grace and dignity of weeping, a gift for those who will listen and receive, beauty through the veil.
Nodoubt, Its a very fantastic poem. Its my all time favourite! Its so simple, ordinary, yet so profound. Long live Le murray, my sweetest poet. Love M. R. Bhagavathi Bangalore India
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