Reached.

In everything I want to reach

In everything, I want to reach
For the very essence.
In work, in searching for the path,
In the heart's turmoil.

For the essence of days gone by,
For their causes,
For foundations, for roots,
For the core.

I want to live, to think, to feel, to love,
To make discoveries
Always grasping the thread
Of fates and events.

Oh, if only I could
At least in part,
I would write eight lines
About the properties of passion.

About the transgressions, the sins,
The running, the pursuit,
The hasty inadvertences,
The elbows, the palms.

I would uncover its law,
Its source,
And I would repeat the initials
Of its names.

I would lay out poems like a garden.
In them, with every vein aquiver,
Lindens would bloom all in a line
Single file, one after another.

I would bring into poems a breath of roses,
A breath of mint,
Meadows, sedge, haymaking,
Bursts of thunder.

Thus Chopin once infused
With the living wonder
Of estates, parks, groves, graves
His etudes.

The play and pain
of triumph reached -
Is the drawn string
Of a taut bow.

- Boris Pasternak

Thanks for the inspiration, Cultural Offering.