Boris Pasternak
This is how they start. At two years...

This is how they start. At two years
They dash from their nannies into melody's darkness,
They chirp, they whistle, - and words
Appear around year three.

This is how they start to understand.
And through the roar of the ignited turbine
It comes to seem that mother isn't mother.
That you aren't you, that home is foreign turf.

What else could a strange beauty do,
Sitting in lilacs on a bench,
But actually steal children?
This is how suspicions arise.

This is how fears ripen. How can a child allow
A star to exceed his grasp
If he's Faust? If he's a dreamer?
This is where Gypsies come from.

This is how seascapes, floating
Above fences where houses should be,
Open up, sudden as a gasp.
This is how iambs begin.

This is how summer nights, fallen
Face-down in the oats with a plea: "Come true!",
Threaten the dawn with your pupil,
This is how fights are picked with the sun.

This is how they start living by poems.

Translated by unknown author