By Boris Pasternak
To be such famous - rather bad,
Not glory is the way to heaven.
And there's no need to store on shelves
The piles of manuscripts forever.
The goal of creation is to bring
Outside the core of inner self,
But not the vanity in order to receive
The sensation, which is just the shame.
You should not live as a mere pretender,
You should live, having the dream, at least,
To gain the love of space, to hear
The call of future times as bliss.
And you should have some blank places
In row of your common destiny,
But not in your white and blank papers,
In which you write the chapters cheerly.
And you should merge into unknown,
To hide your steps in an alien land,
As in the haze no one could follow
His road to some place, to goal.
Others will go along the hard routes,
Along the steps, and one by one.
But will it be a defeat or a triumph -
You shouldn't pay attention once.
Your real face will be your victory,
In every part, in every grain.
And you should live, and be the living,
The living creature till the end.