My thoughts, my heartfelt thoughts

The thoughts from the greatest Ukrainian writer that echoes on every Ukrainian from today

Taras Shevchenko is not only the greatest poet of Ukraine, he is also one of the greatest writers of the world. He was born in 1814 as a serf in the territory of today's Ukraine, but under the rule of the Russian Empire. His great talent made him a free man, but he only could live that along nine years of his short 47 years of life.

He was a genius who was a poet, an artist, writer, prophet and patriot of Ukraine at a time it was formally forbidden to talk about Ukraine inside Ukrainian lands. He is credited today as the greatest writer in Ukrainian and who elevated the language like anyone else.

His works were censored by the order of the tsar Nicholas I of Russia and he was prohibited to write and paint, but he ignored the orders and continued to compose some of what is now considered the most beautiful poetry of the Ukrainian language.

🇺🇦

"My Thoughts, My Heartfelt Thoughts" ("Думи мої, думи мої")

Taras Shevchenko

O my thoughts, my heartfelt thoughts,
I am troubled for you!
Why have you ranged yourselves on paper
In your ranks of sorrow?     
Why did the wind not scatter you,
Like dust-motes, in the steppe?
Why did ill-fate not overlie
You, her babes, while she slept?

For ill-fate but bore you to mock and beclown you;     
You were watered by tears - why did they not drown you?
Sweep you down to the sea?    
Wash you into the plain?
For no one would ask, then, what caused me to suffer,
Nor why I curse fortune, nor why I remain
In this world...
For they would not have sneered:
"He has nothing     
To do!" in their scorn...

O my flowers, my children!
For what have I loved you and watched over you?
Is there one heart in the world to weep with you
As I have wept?   
Maybe my guess will come true!     
Perhaps there will be found a girl's
Pure heart, dark eyes to pour
Tears for these, my heartfelt thoughts, —
I ask nothing more...
One tear from those dark eyes — and I     
Am lord of lords in glory!

O my thoughts, my heartfelt thoughts,
I am troubled for you!

For a girl with hazel eyes,
A maiden with dark brows,     
The heart was rent — and smiled again,
Pouring forth its words;
Poured them forth, as best it could,
For the night's dark shade,
For the cherry-orchard green,
For a young girl's favour.
For the steppes and for the gravemounds,
There in Ukraina,
The heart swooned, and did not wish
To sing here among strangers.     
Did not wish, far in this forest,
In the snow to gather
The Cossack host to council here,
With their staves and banners...
Let the souls of Cossacks hover     
There in Ukraina:
From end to end, there, it is broad
And joyful like that freedom
Which has long since passed away...

Broad as a sea, the Dnipro,     
Steppe and steppe, the rapids roar,
And gravemounds high as mountains.
There was born the Cossack freedom,
There she galloped round,
With Tartars and with Polish lords     
She strewed the plain about
Till it could take no more; with corpses
All the plain she strewed.

Freedom lay down to take her rest;
Meanwhile the gravemound grew,     
And high above it, as a warder,
Hovers the Black Eagle,
And minstrels come and sing about
The gravemound to the people.
They sing of all that came to pass,     
Blind wretches, for they keep
Their wits awake... And I? ... And I
Know only how to weep,
Only tears for Ukraina,
And there are no words.   
And what a disaster... Damn him!

🇺🇦

Думи мої, думи мої,
Лихо мені з вами!
Нащо стали на папері
Сумними рядами?..
Чом вас вітер не розвіяв
В степу, як пилину?
Чом вас лихо не приспало,
Як свою дитину?..

Бо вас лихо на світ на сміх породило,
Поливали сльози... чом не затопили,
Не винесли в море, не розмили в полі?.
Не питали б люде, що в мене болить,
Не питали б, за що проклинаю долю,
Чого нуджу світом? "Нічого робить", —
Не сказали б на сміх...

Квіти мої, діти!
Нащо ж вас кохав я, нащо доглядав?
Чи заплаче серце одно на всім світі,
Як я з вами плакав?.. Може, і вгадав...
Може, найдеться дівоче
Серце, карі очі,
Що заплачуть на сі думи, —
Я більше не хочу.
Одну сльозу з очей карих —
І пан над панами!

Думи мої, думи мої,
Лихо мені з вами!

За карії оченята,
За чорнії брови
Серце рвалося, сміялось,
Виливало мову,
Виливало, як уміло,
За темнії ночі,
За вишневий сад зелений,
За ласки дівочі...За степи та за могили,
Що на Україні,
Серце мліло, не хотіло
Співать на чужині...
Не хотілось в снігу, в лісі,
Козацьку громаду
З булавами, з бунчугами
Збирать на пораду.
Нехай душі козацькії
В Украйні витають —
Там широко, там весело
Од краю до краю
Як та воля, що минулась...

Дніпр широкий — море,
Степ і степ, ревуть пороги,
І могили — гори,-
Там родилась, гарцювала
Козацькая воля;
Там шляхтою, татарами
Засівала поле,
Засівала трупом поле,
Поки не остило...

Лягла спочить... А тим часом
Виросла могила,
А над нею орел чорний
Сторожем літає,
І про неї добрим людям
Кобзарі співають,
Все співають, як діялось,
Сліпі небораки, —
Бо дотепні... А я... а я
Тілько вмію плакать,
Тілько сльози за Украйну...
А слова — немає...
А за лихо... Та цур йому!