The gift is vain, the gift is random ...

A gift is in vain,
Life, why are you given to me?
Or why the fate of a mystery
Are you condemned to be executed?

Who is me hostile power
Out of insignificance I cried,
My soul filled me with passion,
Were you worried about doubt? ..

There is no goal in front of me:
The heart is empty, the mind is perverse,
And makes me sad
A monotonous life noise.

May 26 - the birthday of Alexander Pushkin.

1828

Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.