Boris Slutsky
Fears, jeers, tears...

Fears, jeers, tears
And all that caper
Aren't worth the ink
Aren't worth the paper.
Blots and smears
Aren’t worth the ink
Nor what gives off
A moral stink.
Go and write odes
Where «liberty»
Lamely rhymes
With «brotherly».
Go and write ballads
Where words like «dinner»
Rhyme perfectly
With words like «winner».
Your talents
I will always heed
And your ballads
Will always read.

Translated by Keith Bosley, Dimitry Pospielovsky and Janis Sapiets