Our world is self centered,
And alas,
Everyone here has their end, their beginning.
Your sailboat, standing at the pier,
Paths that are so doubtfully crooked.
And before the boat sank to the bottom
Will leave, from unfulfilled desires,
Miles in the ditches, in the ruins of the distances,
Try to find your grain.
And suddenly, the person who has flown down in an abyss,
In thrall to worries, fake diamonds,
And wasted buried talents,
He will understand that he has a short century.
See the guiding star,
By chance the path to which is paved,
And in it - so few words, so much meaning,
And an explanation for all work...