—  Anna Akhmatova, "The Sentence," From The Complete Poems Of Anna Akhmatova, Translated By

    —  Anna Akhmatova, "The Sentence," From The Complete Poems Of Anna Akhmatova, Translated By

   —  Anna Akhmatova, "The Sentence," from The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova, translated by Judith Hemschemeyer

[text ID: Today I have so much to do: / I must kill memory once and for all, / I must turn my soul to stone, / I must learn to live again—]

More Posts from Moonlitmirror and Others

4 years ago

Isolation

We can cross over and connect

find peace in small things

travel beyond even our simplest dreams - 

I’ll see you in a moment, sitting by the sea 

lost in this forgotten memory


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2 years ago

I am more a fool for thinking, wiser for feeling, as if my head had ever the chance of hiding this from me 


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2 years ago

excerpt from a poem you can find exclusively in my poetry book 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺, available on Amazon 💫

amazon.com
Amazon.com: melancholia in the milky way: 9798837187964: talbott, t. e., Cordova, N.: Books
Excerpt From A Poem You Can Find Exclusively In My Poetry Book 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘢

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2 years ago

I was a gifted child. Until I wasn't. I was the golden girl. Until I couldn't burn anymore.

My parents expected me to build wings of gold and fly further than anyone could ever try. I don't blame them, having a child to raise is like sculpting a clay pot, you can shape it the way you like, paint it the colour you fancy. To raise a child is to play God. To raise a child is to be God.

But to be a child is to fall, to make mistakes, to fail. The thing about being too bright at an early age means you burn out by the time you're 16 and suddenly the world around you becomes more gray and terribly, terribly lonely. The fire is never warm enough, nothing is ever enough. And one day you find yourself begging to a godless sky, begging for a new spark.

I was a gifted child once. I was the golden girl. And one day, I burned out.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire


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2 years ago
I Am Begging You All To Stop Treating This Site Like Instagram If You Dont Want It To Be Content Free
I Am Begging You All To Stop Treating This Site Like Instagram If You Dont Want It To Be Content Free
I Am Begging You All To Stop Treating This Site Like Instagram If You Dont Want It To Be Content Free
I Am Begging You All To Stop Treating This Site Like Instagram If You Dont Want It To Be Content Free
I Am Begging You All To Stop Treating This Site Like Instagram If You Dont Want It To Be Content Free
I Am Begging You All To Stop Treating This Site Like Instagram If You Dont Want It To Be Content Free

i am begging you all to stop treating this site like instagram if you dont want it to be content free by next year


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3 years ago

boys in red lay  along the platform pillowed on backpacks legs in the sun or sprawled on benches drooping hands fanning pale knees tanning ruddy

like a blush across the face of four pm heat


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moonlitmirror - Could ever hear by tale or history
Could ever hear by tale or history

Historian, writer, and poet | proofreader and tarot card lover | Virgo and INTJ | dyspraxic and hypermobile | You'll find my poetry and other creative outlets stored here. Read my Substack newsletter Hidden Within These Walls. Copyright © 2016 Ruth Karan.

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