I'm Glad That Your Obsession Isn't Me...

      by Marina Tsvetayeva (1892-1941)

I'm glad that your obsession isn't me,
I'm glad that it's not you that haunts me so,
That never underneath our feet will flee
The solid ground of the earthly globe.

I'm glad that I can joke with you and tease--
That I can be myself--without games,
That at the slightest touch of our sleeves
I won't be blushing in a stifling wave.

I'm gladder still that right before my eyes
You unrestrainedly embrace your lover,
That you don't send me to the burning hell when I
In front of you give kisses to another.

That you don't mention, darling, night and day
In vain my dear name, so sweetly ringing,
That I won't see us in a church one day
And hallelujah they will not be singing.

I thank you with my hand and with my heart
Because, without knowing it, daily
You love me so:  for our nights apart,
For scarce evenings that we spent together gaily,
For moonlit walks that never came to be,
For all the sunlight that above us never shone,
Because you're not obsessed, alas! with me,
Because, alas! it isn't you that haunts me so.

                                            --translated by Alexander Shaumyan