envy - yevgeny yevtushenko

Envy
by Yevgeny Yevtushenko


I envy.
            This secret
I have not revealed before.
I know
            there is somewhere a boy
whom I greatly envy.
I envy
           the way he fights;
I myself was never so guileless and bold.
I envy
          the way he laughs --
as a boy I could never laugh like that.
He always walks about with bumps and bruises;
I've always been better combed,
                                                     intact.
He will not miss
                           all those passages in books
I've missed.
                  Here he is stronger too.
He will be more blunt and harshly honest,
forgiving no evil for any good it might bring;
and where I'd dropped my pen:
                                                   "It isn't worth it . . ."
he'd assert:
                    "It's worth it!"
                                           and pick up the pen.
If he can't unravel a knot,
                                             he'll cut through,
where I can neither unravel a knot,
                                                            nor cut it through.
Once he falls in love,
                                   he won't fall out of it,
while I keep falling in
                                    and out of love.
I'll hide my envy.
                             Start to smile.
I'll pretend to be a simple soul:
"Someone has to smile;
someone has to live in a different way . . ."
But as much as I tried to persuade myself of this,
repeating:
                  "To each man his fate . . ."
I can't forget there is somewhere a boy
who will achieve far more than I.