Here you will find the Poem Here will be echoes in the mountains... of poet Boris Pasternak
Here will be echoes in the mountains, The distant landslides' rumbling boom, The rocks, the dwellings in the village, The sorry little inn, the gloom Of something black beyond the Terek, Clouds moving heavily. Up there The day was breaking very slowly; It dawned, but light was nowhere near. One sensed the heaviness of darkness For miles ahead around Kazbek Wound on the heights: though some were trying To throw the halter from their neck. As if cemented in an oven, In the strange substance of a dream, A pot of poisoned food, the region Of Daghestan there slowly steamed. Its towering peaks towards us rolling, All black from top to foot, it strained To meet our car, if not with clashing Of daggers, then with pouring rain. The mountains were preparing trouble. The handsome giants, fierce and black, Each one more evil than the other Were closing down upon our track.
