Marina Tsvetaeva
Thus to thirst life: And to be tender...

Thus to thirst life: And to be tender
And rabid and noisy,
To be intelligent and charming —
Gorgeous to be!

More tender than what are or have been,
Guilt not to know...
This, that in graveyard all are equal,
Angers me so.

To be what nobody holds dear —
Like ice become!
Not knowing what has come before now
Nor what will come,

To forget how the heart broke and
Grew back together,
To forget both the words and voice
And shine of hair.

Bracelet of ancient turquoise
On the stem, on
This my white arm
Narrow and long...

Like painting over a cloud
From afar,
One took the mother-of-pearl pen
In one's arm,

Just like the legs jumped
Over the fence,
To forget, how along the road
Shade advanced.

To forget, like flame of azure, how
Days are subdued...
All my mischief, all my tempest,
And poems too!

Laughter will be chased away by
My miracle.
I, always-pink, will be
The most pale.

And they won't open — thus is needed —
Pity this one!
Not for the sight, not for the fields,
Not for the sun —

These my lowered eyelids. —
Flower not for! —
My earth, forgive for centuries
Forevermore.

Thus both the moon and the snow
Will melt away,
When this young, beautiful century
Will rush on by.

Translated by Ilya Shambat