Blue Sands
At night, far away from the human searchlight,
over the desert the blue sands are silent.
In the core of fire, hotter than darkness,
blue sands, night’s obsession,
whirled up and forgotten by passionless history,
have buried life that’s unborn.
Along vast beaches where centuries doze
the sunset’s gashed crimsons and glowering purples
never, never will mingle or colour at all
the blue noble blood of the sands.
So a cold mystery of fugitive years
and undreamt-of dreams still widens.
With a cobweb of veins they pattern your temples,
the sands, the blue sands, the blue sands.
1969 Moscow
Translated by Eugene Dubnovand Anne Stevenson
Page(s) 66
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