Mother, let me congratulate you on <br />the birthday of your son. <br />You worry so much about him. Here he lies, <br />he earns little, his marriage was unwise, <br />he’s long, he’s getting thin, he hasn’t shaved. <br />Oh, what a miserable loving gaze! <br />I should congratulate you if I may <br />mother on your worry’s birthday. <br />It was from you he inherited <br />devotion without pity to this age <br />and arrogant and awkward in his faith <br />from you he took his faith, the Revolution. <br />You didn’t make him prosperous or famous, <br />and fearlessness is his only talent. <br />Open up his windows, <br />let in the twittering in the leafy branches, <br />kiss his eyes open. <br />Give him his notebook and his ink bottle, <br />give him a drink of milk and watch him go. <br /> <br /> <br />from Selected Poems (Penguin)<br /><br />Yevgeny Yevtushenko<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/birthday-14/
