Mary Magdalene I

As soon as night descends, we meet.
Remorse my memories releases.
The demons of the past compete,
And draw and tear my heart to pieces,
Sin, vice and madness and deceit,
When I was slave of men's caprices
And when my dwelling was the street.

The deathly silence is not far;
A few more moments only matter,
Which the Inevitable bar.
But at the edge, before they scatter,
In front of Thee my life I shatter,
As though an alabaster jar.

O what might not have been my fate
By now, my Teacher and my Saviour,
Did not eternity await
Me at the table, as a late
New victim of my past behaviour!

But what can sin now mean to me,
And death, and hell, and sulphur burning,
When, like a graft onto a tree,
I have-for everyone to see-
Grown into being part of Thee
In my immeasurable yearning?

When pressed against my knees I place
Thy precious feet, and weep, despairing,
Perhaps I'm learning to embrace
The cross's rough four-sided face;
And, fainting, all my being sways
Towards Thee, Thy burial preparing.

by Boris Pasternak

Other poems of PASTERNAK (122)

Comments (3)

This is a really nice poem but i don't see sorrow anywhere Gangadharan. Instead in this poem the poet is filled with joy.
Deep sorrow, Gangadharan? 'Tis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy! I like most of Dickinson's poetry, but this is certainly not one of her best, and hardly deserves Poem of the Day when so many better ones could have been chosen.
deep sorrow the expression of the poem. very interesting poetry.