Here you will find the Poem Mary Magdalene I of poet Boris Pasternak
As soon as night descends, we meet. Remorse my memories releases. The demons of the past compete, And draw and tear my heart to pieces, Sin, vice and madness and deceit, When I was slave of men's caprices And when my dwelling was the street. The deathly silence is not far; A few more moments only matter, Which the Inevitable bar. But at the edge, before they scatter, In front of Thee my life I shatter, As though an alabaster jar. O what might not have been my fate By now, my Teacher and my Saviour, Did not eternity await Me at the table, as a late New victim of my past behaviour! But what can sin now mean to me, And death, and hell, and sulphur burning, When, like a graft onto a tree, I have-for everyone to see- Grown into being part of Thee In my immeasurable yearning? When pressed against my knees I place Thy precious feet, and weep, despairing, Perhaps I'm learning to embrace The cross's rough four-sided face; And, fainting, all my being sways Towards Thee, Thy burial preparing.
