By Vera Pavlova
Translated by Jena Woodhouse

It's quiet, as in time of war.
I lie on my back, alone,
and sense how your seeds
are dying inside me,
their terror, their longing to live...
I don't know how I shall bear
the burden of so many deaths,
while birthing one. 

Click here to hear the poem in Russian on Lyrikline.org.