Shurale shigyre. Museum Complex of Gabdulla Tukay

Gabdulla Tukay

There is an aul near Kazan, named Kyrlay.
Even the chickens in that Kyrlai know how to sing ... A wondrous land!

Although I'm not from there, but I kept love for him,
He worked on his land - he sowed, reaped and harrowed.

Is he reputed to be a big aul? No, on the contrary, it is small,
And the river, the pride of the people, is just a small spring.

This forest side is forever alive in memory.
Grass spreads like a velvety blanket.

There the people never knew neither cold nor heat:
The wind will blow in its turn, and the rain will fall in its turn.

From raspberries, strawberries, everything in the forest is variegated, variegated,
You pick up a bucket full of berries in an instant!

Often I lay on the grass and looked at the heavens.
Boundless forests seemed to me a formidable army.

Like warriors stood pines, lindens and oaks,
Under the pine - sorrel and mint, under the birch - mushrooms.

How many blue, yellow, red flowers intertwined there,
And from them the fragrance flowed in the sweet air.

Moths flew away, flew in and landed,
It was as if the petals were arguing and reconciling with them.

Bird chirping, sonorous babble were heard in silence,
And filled my soul with piercing joy.

summer forest I depicted - my verse has not yet sung
Our autumn, our winter, and young beauties,

And the fun of our festivities, and the spring Saban-tuy ...
O my verse, do not excite my soul with remembrance!

But wait, I was daydreaming... here is the paper on the table...
After all, I was going to tell you about the tricks of the shurale!

I'll start now, reader, don't blame me:
I lose all reason, only I remember Kyrlai!

Of course, in this amazing forest
You will meet a wolf and a bear, and an insidious fox.

Many fairy tales and beliefs walk in their native land
And about gins, and about peri, and about terrible shurals.

Is this true? Endless, like the sky, the ancient forest,
And no less than in heaven, perhaps in the forest of wonders.

About one of them I will begin my short story,
And - such is my custom - I will sing verses.

Somehow in the night, when, shining, the moon glides in the clouds,
A jigit went from the aul to the forest for firewood.

I drove quickly on the cart, immediately took up the ax,
Knock and knock, he cuts down trees, and all around is a dense forest.

As often happens in summer, the night was fresh and damp;
Silence grew as the birds slept.

The woodcutter is busy with work, you know, knocking himself, knocking,
For a moment, the enchanted horseman forgot!

Chu! Some terrible cry is heard in the distance,
And the ax stopped in a swung hand.

And our agile woodcutter froze in amazement.
He looks and does not believe his eyes. Who is this man?

Genie, rogue or ghost, this twisted freak?
How ugly he is, involuntarily takes fear!

The nose is curved like a fishhook
Hands, legs - like branches, they will frighten even the daredevil!

Eyes flash angrily, they burn in black cavities.
Even during the day, not like at night, this look will frighten!

He looks like a man, very thin and naked,
The narrow forehead is adorned with a horn the size of our finger.

He has half a arshin fingers on the hands of curves,
Ten fingers ugly, sharp, long and straight!

And, looking into the eyes of a freak that lit up like two fires,
The woodcutter asked boldly, "What do you want from me?"

“Young horseman, don’t be afraid, robbery doesn’t attract me,
But although I am not a robber, I am not a righteous saint.

Why, when I saw you, did I let out a cheerful cry? -
Because I'm used to tickling people!

Each finger is adapted to tickle more viciously,
I kill a man, making him laugh!

Well, move your fingers, my brother,
Play ticklish with me and make me laugh!”

“Okay, I’ll play,” the woodcutter answered him.
Only under one condition… do you agree or not?”

“Speak, little man, please be bold,
I will accept all the conditions, but let's play soon!

“If so, listen to me, how you decide - I don’t care.
Do you see a thick, large and heavy log?

Forest spirit. Forest sheep. Let's work together.
Together with you, we will transfer the log to the cart.

You will notice a big gap at the other end of the log,
There, hold the log stronger, all your strength is needed!

Shurale squinted at the indicated place,
And, without contradicting the horseman, the shurale agreed.

His fingers are long and straight, he put them into the mouth of the log.
Wise men! Can you see the lumberjack's simple trick?

The wedge, pre-plugged, knocks out with an ax,
Knocking out, performs a clever plan in secret.

Shurale does not move, does not move his hand,
He stands, not understanding the clever inventions of man.

So a thick wedge flew out with a whistle, disappeared into the darkness ...
Shurale's fingers pinched and remained in the crack!

Shurale saw the deception, shurale yells, yells,
He calls the brothers for help, he calls the forest people.

With repentant prayer, he says to the jigit:
“Have pity, have pity on me, let me go, zhigit!

I will never offend you, dzhigit, or my son,
I will never touch your entire family, O man!

I won’t hurt anyone, do you want me to take an oath?
I will tell everyone: “I am a friend of a horseman, let him walk in the forest!”

My fingers hurt! Give me freedom, let me live on earth
What do you want, jigit, for the profit from the torment of the shurale?

The poor fellow cries, rushes about, whines, howls, he is not himself,
The woodcutter does not hear him, he is going home.

“Is it possible that the cry of the sufferer will not soften this soul?
Who are you, who are you, heartless? What is your name, jigit?

Tomorrow, if I live to see our brother,
To the question: “Who is your offender?” - whose name shall I name?
“So be it, I say, brother, do not forget this name:
I was nicknamed "The God-Minded One" ... And now it's time for me to go.

Shurale screams and howls, wants to show strength,
He wants to escape from captivity, to punish the woodcutter.

"I will die! Forest spirits, help me quickly
I pinched Vgoduminuvshiy, the villain ruined me!

And in the morning shurale came running from all sides.
"What's wrong with you? Are you crazy? What are you upset about, you fool?

Calm down, shut up, we can't stand the scream.
Pinched in the past year, why are you crying this year?

The fairy tale "Shurale" by the Tatar writer Gabdulla Tukay (1886–1913) is based on folklore material rich in poetic images. Folk art generously nourished the inspiration of the poet throughout his short creative activity.

Tukay's tales contain many miracles and funny stories. Water witches inhabit lakes, in a dense forest it is easy and free to undead forest, preparing intrigues for a careless person. But all his shurales, genies and other forest spirits have no character mysterious power that darkens people's lives; rather, they are naive and gullible forest creatures, in a collision with which a person always comes out victorious.

In the afterword to the first edition of Shurale, Tukay wrote:

“... it is hoped that talented artists will appear among us and draw a curved nose, long fingers, a head with terrible horns, show how the fingers of the shurale were pinched, paint pictures of the forests where the goblin were found ...”

Seventy years have passed since the death of the remarkable Tatar poet, since then many artists have sought to fulfill his dream.

There is an aul near Kazan, named Kyrlay.
Even the chickens in that Kyrlai know how to sing ... A wondrous land!
Although I'm not from there, but I kept love for him,
He worked on his land - he sowed, reaped and harrowed.
Is he reputed to be a big aul? No, on the contrary, it is small,
And the river, the pride of the people, is just a small spring.
This side of the forest is forever alive in memory.
Grass spreads like a velvety blanket.
There the people never knew neither cold nor heat:
The wind will blow in its turn, and the rain will fall in its turn.
From raspberries, strawberries, everything in the forest is variegated, variegated,
You pick up a bucket full of berries in an instant,
Often I lay on the grass and looked at the heavens.
Formidable army seemed to me boundless forests,
Like warriors stood pines, lindens and oaks,
Under the pine - sorrel and mint, under the birch - mushrooms.
How many blue, yellow, red flowers intertwined there,
And from them the fragrance flowed in the sweet air,
Moths flew away, flew in and landed,
It was as if the petals were arguing and reconciling with them.
Bird chirping, sonorous babble were heard in silence
And filled my soul with piercing joy.
Here and music, and dancing, and singers, and circus performers,
Here are boulevards, and theaters, and wrestlers, and violinists!
This fragrant forest is wider than the sea, higher than the clouds,
Like the army of Genghis Khan, noisy and powerful.
And the glory of grandfather's names rose before me,
And cruelty, and violence, and tribal strife.
I depicted the summer forest - my verse has not yet been sung
Our autumn, our winter and young beauties,
And the fun of our festivities, and the spring Sabantuy ...
O my verse, do not excite my soul with remembrance!
But wait, I was daydreaming... Here is the paper on the table...
After all, I was going to tell you about the tricks of the shurale.
I'll start now, reader, don't blame me:
I lose all reason, only I remember Kyrlai.
Of course, that in this amazing forest
You will meet a wolf, and a bear, and an insidious fox.
Here, hunters often saw squirrels,
Now a gray hare will rush, then a horned elk will flash.
There are many secret paths and treasures here, they say.
There are many terrible beasts and monsters here, they say.
Many fairy tales and beliefs walk in their native land
And about genies, and about peri, and about terrible shurals.
Is this true? Endless, like the sky, the ancient forest,
And no less than in heaven, maybe in the forest of miracles.
About one of them I will begin my short story,
And - such is my custom - I will sing verses.
Somehow in the night, when, shining, the moon glides in the clouds,
A jigit went from the aul to the forest for firewood.
I drove quickly on the cart, immediately took up the ax,
Knock and knock, he cuts down trees, and all around is a dense forest.
As often happens in summer, the night was fresh, wet,
Silence grew as the birds slept.
The lumberjack is busy with work, know he knocks for himself, knocks,
For a moment, the enchanted horseman forgot.
Chu! A terrible scream resounds in the distance.
And the ax stopped in a swung hand.
And our agile woodcutter froze in amazement.
He looks and does not believe his eyes. Who is this? Human?
Genie, rogue or ghost this twisted freak?
How ugly he is, involuntarily takes fear.
Ios is bent like a fishhook,
Hands, legs - like branches, they will frighten even the daredevil.
Eyes flash angrily, they burn in black cavities.
Even during the day, not like at night, this look will frighten.
He looks like a man, very thin and naked,
The narrow forehead is adorned with a horn the size of our finger.
He has half a arshin fingers on the hands of curves, -
Ten fingers are ugly, sharp, long and straight.
And looking into the eyes of a freak that lit up like two fires,
The woodcutter asked boldly, "What do you want from me?"
“Young horseman, don’t be afraid, robbery doesn’t attract me,
But although I am not a robber, I am not a righteous saint.
Why, when I saw you, did I let out a cheerful cry?
Because I'm used to tickling people.
Each finger is adapted to tickle more viciously,
I kill a man, making him laugh.
Well, with your fingers, my brother, move,
Play ticklish with me and make me laugh!”
“Okay, I’ll play,” the woodcutter answered him.
Only under one condition… Do you agree or not?”
“Speak, little man, please be bold,
I will accept all the conditions, but let's play soon!
"If so - listen to me, how to decide -
I don't care. Do you see a thick, large and heavy log?
Forest spirit! Let's work together first.
Together with you, we will transfer the log to the cart.
Did you notice a big gap at the other end of the log?
There, hold the log stronger, all your strength is needed! .. "
Shurale squinted at the indicated place.
And, without contradicting the horseman, the shurale agreed.
His fingers are long, straight, he put om into the mouth of a log ...
Wise men! Can you see the lumberjack's simple trick?
The wedge, pre-plugged, knocks out with an ax,
Knocking out, performs a clever plan in secret. —
Shurale will not move, will not move his hand,
He stands, not understanding the clever inventions of man.
So a thick wedge flew out with a whistle, disappeared into the darkness ...
Shurale's fingers pinched and remained in the crack.
I saw the shurale deception, the shurale yells, yells.
He calls the brothers for help, he calls the forest people.
With a penitent prayer, he says to the jigit:
"Have pity, have pity on me! Let me go, dzhigit!
I will never offend you, dzhigit, or my son.
I will never touch your entire family, O man!
I won't hurt anyone! Do you want me to take an oath?
I will tell everyone: “I am a friend of a horseman. Let him walk in the forest!”
My fingers hurt! Give me freedom! let me live
on the ground! What do you want, jigit, for the profit from the torment of the shurale?
The poor fellow cries, rushes about, whines, howls, he is not himself. ;
The woodcutter does not hear him, he is going home.
“Is it possible that the cry of the sufferer will not soften this soul?
Who are you, who are you, heartless? What is your name, jigit?
Tomorrow, if I live to see our brother,
To the question: “Who is your offender?” — whose name shall I name?
“So be it, I say, brother. Don't forget this name:
I was nicknamed "The God-Minded One" ... And now it's time for me to go.
Shurale screams and howls, wants to show strength,
He wants to escape from captivity, to punish the woodcutter.
"I will die. Forest spirits, help me quickly!
I pinched Vgoduminuvshiy, the villain ruined me!
And in the morning shurale came running from all sides.
"What's wrong with you? Are you crazy? What are you upset about, you fool?
Take it easy! Shut up! We can't stand screaming.
Pinched in the past year, what are you doing this year crying? "

Summer. Hot weather. Jump into the river - grace!
I like to dive and swim, gore the water with my head!
So I play, so I dive for an hour, or even an hour and a half.
Well, now I'm freshened up, it's time for me to get dressed.
Went ashore and got dressed. Everywhere is quiet, not a soul.
Involuntary fear creeps in this sunny wilderness.
On the bridges, why - I don’t know, I looked around in anguish ...
Witch, water witch appeared on the board!
Tousled braids are scratched by a witch over the water,
And in her hand sparkles a bright golden comb.
I stand, trembling with fear, hiding in the willows,
And I watch the wonderful comb that burns in her hand,
The water woman combed her wet braids,
She jumped into the river, dived, disappeared in the depths of the jet.
Quietly, I ascend the bridges, emerging from the dense foliage.
What's this? The witch forgot her wonderful golden comb!
He looked around: empty, deaf on the river, on the shore.
Comb - grab and straight to the house I run headlong.
Well, I'm flying, not feeling my legs, well, I'm racing like a fast horse.
I'm covered in cold sweat, I'm on fire.
I looked over my shoulder ... Oh, trouble, there is no salvation:
The witch, the water witch is chasing after me!
- Don't run! - shouts the demon. - Wait, thief! Stop!
Why did you steal my comb, wonderful golden comb?
I run, and the witch follows. The witch follows, I run.
A man to help! .. Quiet, muffled all around.
Through the pits, gullies, we reached the village.
Then all the dogs rose to the witch and poured themselves.
Woof! Woof! Woof! - not tired, dogs bark, puppies squeal,
The merman was frightened, quickly runs back.
I caught my breath, thought: “So the trouble has passed!
Water witch, you lost your comb forever!”
I entered the house: - Mother, I found a wonderful golden comb.
Give me a drink, I ran quickly, I was in a hurry to get home.
The golden magic comb silently accepts the mother,
But she herself is trembling, afraid, but what - you can’t understand.
The sun has set. Okay, I'm going to bed.
The day is gone.
And the cool and hay evening spirit entered the hut.
I lie under the covers, I am pleased, I am warm.
Knock on knock. Someone is knocking on our window glass.
Too lazy to throw off my blanket, too lazy to get to the window.
Mother, hearing, trembled, woke up from sleep.
- Who knocks in such darkness! Get out, come on!
What happened to you at night? You are lost!
- Who am I? Water Witch! Where is my golden comb?
Just now, your son, your thief, stole my comb!
I opened the blanket. The moonbeam shines in the window.
Oh, what will become of me! Ah, where should I go!
Knock on knock. Go away, demon, so that the devil takes you away!
And water - I hear - pours from long and gray hair.
It can be seen that I am not destined to own glorious prey:
The mother tossed the comb to the witch and slammed the window shut.
We got rid of the witch, but we couldn't sleep.
Oh, scolded, scolded, oh, my mother scolded me!
Remembering the ominous knock, I burn with shame.
And I stopped touching other people's things forever.

There lived in the old days a man, and his wife lived with him.
Their peasant life was always poor.
Here is their entire household: one ram with a goat.
The ram was very thin, the goat was thin.
One day a man says: “Look, wife,
The market price of hay has risen.
A ram with a goat will just eat you and me,
Let them go where their eyes look."
The wife answered: “I agree, man,
And the use of cattle has long been small.
Let the ram and the goat leave the yard,
It’s not the old time to feed idlers.”
What will the ram do? What will the goat do?
Is it possible to argue with the owner in the eyes?
Sew one big bag for two
And a ram and a goat go wandering into the fields.
Went. They go to the fields. They go, they go.
Neither white nor black is seen by them here.
How long, how short, did they have to go, -
Suddenly, a wolf's head is met on the way.
At the sight of that, the friends were suddenly frightened.
It is difficult to guess whose fear was more.
Trembling, they stand at the head together
And they whisper: "Hold it, we'll take it in a bag."
The goat said: “Beat, ram! You are stronger."
The ram answered: "Strike, you, beard, be bold."
Though they moved from their place, they are afraid in take hands,
Where the courage to both of them take?
A ram and a goat stand for a long time,
But don't touch your head.
Then, taking his head by the tips of his ears,
They put her in a big bag.
They go, they go, they go, and their way is far,
Suddenly they see: a light flickers in the distance.
Baran and says: “It’s time for us to rest.
Aida, goat, follow me, let's sleep until the morning!:
Wolves will not come to this light,
They won’t guess that we fell asleep here.”
Thus the friends agreed.
The goat said: “Aida, ram, follow me!”
But only came closer to the light
Poor vagrants, this is what they found nearby:
Five or six big wolves sat down neatly in a row
And they diligently cook porridge on a fire.
Neither alive nor dead are friends now,
They are scared, I'm scared for them.
Everyone says to the wolves: “Great, gentlemen!”
(As if there is no trace of timidity in them.)
And the wolves are happy with them, a find anywhere -
For wolves, a ram with a goat is delicious food.
“We’ll eat them, they say, since they themselves came to us ..
Here we accidentally found meat for porridge!
The goat says: “Why be discouraged?
Now we are ready to give you plenty of meat.
What the hell are you looking at? Spare no piece
And drag the wolf's head out of the bag!
Exactly the ram performed everythingwithout distant words
And immediately he caught up with all the wolves:
So wolf's head looks terrible to wolves!
The goat is angry, knocking with its hooves.
The goat shouts: “Miki-ke-ke, miki-ke-ke!
We have twelve hidden heads in a bag.
How not to scold you, ignorant fool,
Take a big head out of the bag!”
In an instant my goat's fiction is recognized by my ram
And he gives the same head a second time.
Now five or six wolves are completely frightened,
Eyes are tired, do not move anything.
Should they, five or six wolves, think about porridge?
Everyone wants to run to other places.
But how can they escape? And what is the way out?
That's what five or six wolves are thinking about now.
The oldest wolf gets up and tells them,
Seasoned and gray-haired, who saw a different sense:
"I'll go for spring water for a while,
I'm afraid that the porridge will not become dry.
The wolf went to the water. There is no wolf. No water.
Has something bad happened?
From the elder wolf, not a spirit, not a trace.
In vain the wolves wait: he is gone forever.
Now among the wolves, fear is even stronger:
Their oldest wolf disappeared into the thick bushes.
Behind him, another gets up, goes for water:
“I’ll find the elder and bring it with me!”
It is clear that he, like the former, will run away
No wonder he looks so cowardly.
Four wolves are waiting, hour after hour goes by.
And none of the wolves will move their tail.
Then, breaking away from their seats,running after each other
And there are no wolves around the fire at all.
So smart friends drove the wolves out.
Everyone is happy now: the goat, the ram and I.
Now the ram and the goat moved closer to the fire
And they eat porridge, delicious cooking.
On the soft grass then lie down to sleep.
No one will touch them: in the forest and quiet and smooth.
And at dawn, friends, the light dawned a little,
With a bag and a head, they again set off into the light.
The goat was brave, the ram was well done,
Everything went well, and the fairy tale ends here.

I am proud of our youth: how brave and how smart!
It seems to glow with enlightenment and knowledge.
With all my heart striving for progress, full of new wisdom,
Divers of the bottom of the sea - we need those!
Let the clouds be gloomy above us, - thunder will strike, it will rain,
And the dreams of youth will fall to our ground.
On the peaks, on the valleys, streams of water will rustle.
The battle for freedom is on! shaking the sky.
Let our people firmly believe with all their tormented souls:
The daggers will soon shine, the day of the saint's struggle is near.
And with an empty frame, let him not wear a ring:
Real diamonds are our faithful hearts!

Once we woke up in the fifth year,meeting the dawn
And someone called us:labor, holy fulfilling the covenant!
Seeing how low it burns in the morning sky star,
We understood: the night was over, the suffering of the day had come.
We were pure in soul, our faith was bright,
But we were still blind, the dirt had not yet left our faces.
Therefore, we could not distinguish friends from enemies,
Satan often seemed to usworthy son of the earth.
Without intent, each of us sometimes did bad things,
Let us open the way to the eighth vault of heaven
Jabrail. Friends, no matter how it was - forever dispelled
dark. For business! We need clarity: eye clarity and clarity of mind.

If the sun rises from the West, we will be finished -
So the sage predicted in the sacred books.
The sun of clear science has now risen in the West.
What is it that the East lingers, that the brow frowns in doubt?

(From the poem "The hopes of the people in connection with the great jubilee")
We have laid a trail on Russian soil,
We are a pure mirror of the past years.
We sang songs with the people of Russia,
There is something in common in our life and morality,
Years passed one after another,
We joked, we always worked together.

Never break our friendship
We are strung on a single thread.
Like tigers, we fight, the burden is not a burden for us,
Like horses, we work in peacetime.
We are faithful children of a single country,
Are we supposed to be powerless?

Here is the city teahouse,
She is the sons of Bai
Full, full, full, full.

They walk wide
They drink beer, cut themselves into a point, -
At the expense of the fathers, it's easy to revel!
Who, if not me, should suffer?
Here with Duchess cigarettes
Smokes the company hangs,
Instilled in them debauchery demon
Who, if not me, should suffer?
Their ignorance has no end,
Magazines they do not know the light,
Embraced their dream in the color of years.
Who, if not me, should suffer?
I left.
But I still feel sorry for him
Sorry a hundred times, and a thousand times sorry for him.
And I walked in a blizzard your way,
Leaving only a kind word for him ...

Oh pen!
Let grief perish, shine with the light of joy!
Help, we will go with you on the right path!
Us, mired in ignorance, us, lazy people for a long time,
Lead to a reasonable goal - our long shame is heavy!
You raised Europe to heavenly heights,
Why did you, the unfortunate ones, drop low?
Are we forever doomed to be like this
And in a hateful humiliation should they drag out their lives?
Call the people to learning, let your rays burn!
Explain to fools how harmful black poison is without enlightenment!
Make it so that black is considered black with us!
For white to be recognized only as white - without embellishment!
Despise the insults of fools, despise their curses!
Think about the people's welfare, think about your friends!
The glory of our future days, O pen, is your gift.
And, doubling the power of vision, we will go forward with you.
Let our years in the realm of inertia and darkness not last!
May we emerge from the darkness of the underworld into the kingdom of light!
Mohammedans of all lands groan from year to year, -
Oh, why was our people punished by a black fate?
O feather, be our support and our greatness!
May poverty and grief disappear irrevocably!

I like the curve of your thin eyebrows
Curls are naughty dark curls.
Our quiet speeches that attract the heart,
Your eyes are transparent like an emerald.
Your lips, which is sweeter than heavenly kavsar,
Whose smile - living as a sweet gift.
I love your harmony, beauty movements, -
Without a corset, any thin in the belt.
And especially the breasts - they are so tender,
Like two spring suns, two bright moons.
I love to hug you by the white necks,
In your young arms I love to freeze.
Oh, how touching is this "Jim", this "Mim"
In your sweet babble: "dusty" and "dzhanym"!
You are no less kind to me than beauty,
Chastity proud and purity.
And your brocade kalfak is so dear to me,
Just look at him - and I go not myself.
So if ishan il blessed khazret
Straight to heaven will ever give me a ticket,
But if, guria, coming out to meet you,
He will not decorate his head with a kalfak
And he won’t tell me: “Hello, Janim!” - I won't come in
To this paradise, let me fall into the abyss of hell!
Only your ignorance does not please me,
What keeps you in the gate, in the darkness, in silence.
I don't like the wives of the mullahs at all either,
You are so cleverly able to deceive.
They love you if you nurse their children,
Well, wash the floors - they will love you more.
From ignorance you all take a lesson.
Life in darkness - these are the teachings of our use!
Your school is with the calves next to it, in the corner.
You are sitting, muttering "Jack", on the floor.
By nature, you are gold, there is no price for you.
But they are doomed to wallow in ignorance.
In blindness you spend your life, and - alas! -
Your daughters are just as unhappy as you.
You are like a salable commodity on earth,
You wander like a herd, obedient to the mullah,
But you are not a sheep! Believe me I'm right
That you are worthy of all human rights!
Isn't it time to let go of these shackles!
Isn't it time for you to get out of this vice!
And do not believe Saydash, he is drunk with anger,
He is an ignoramus, over all the ignoramuses a khan.

The theater is both a spectacle and a school for the people,
To awaken the hearts of people - that is his nature!
On the path of the unrighteous, he does not allow to turn,
He leads us to the light, opening the right path for us.
Exciting and mixing, he makes again
Reflect on the past and the meaning of the experience.
On the stage, seeing the truthful your appearance,
You will laugh and cry at yourself.
You will know: your life is bright or impenetrable,
This is true in her, but this is wrong in her.
You want to develop worthy traits, -
Thus, you will be enriched with new wisdom.
And if you are good, then only you'll get better,
And if you are a savage, you will rise from the darkness.
There are no ranks in the theater, it’s like this:
You are a master or a slave - the theater doesn't care!
He is pure and majestic, he attracts to the bright heights.
Free and wide, it is holy and independent.
He is a well-behaved temple, he is a palace of knowledge,
Mentor for minds, healer for hearts.
But he must observe one condition:
native people teach with patience and love,
And from the tree of wisdom to pluck then only the fruit,
When he will gain beauty and maturity.

There are two roads in this world:
if you go first
You will be happy, and the second -
only knowledge will be found.
Everything is in your hands: be wise, but live,
crushed by evil
And when you want happiness -
be ignorant, be an ass!

Native language- holy language, father and mother tongue,
How beautiful you are! I comprehended the whole world in your wealth!
Rocking the cradle, my mother opened you to me in a song,
And then I learned to understand my grandmother's fairy tales.
Native language, native language, with you I boldly walked into the distance,
you exalted my joy, you enlightened my sadness.
Native language, together with you for the first time I prayed to the creator:
- Oh God, forgive my mother, forgive me, forgive my father.

Children! Are you bored at school?
Perhaps you are languishing in captivity?
Himself, as a child, I used to miss
My thought called for freedom.
I grew up. Dreams come true, look
Here I am an adult, my own master!
I will go out on the road - without end, without edge
Easy life fun playing.
I will joke, play pranks, laugh:
I'm big, I have no one to be afraid of!
So having decided, I entered into life with hope.
Unfortunately, I turned out to be ignorant.
No freedom on my way
There is no happiness, my legs are tired of walking.
For a long time I wandered in search of fun,
Only now did I see the purpose of life.
Life goal - hard work high.
Laziness, idleness - the worst vices.
Fulfilling your duty before the people,
This goodness is the holy goal of life!
If suddenly I feel tired,
Seeing - I have a lot to go through,
I dream back to school
I yearn for my "bondage";
I say: “Why am I an adult now
And left the shrine of the school?
Why do I not caress anyone?
I am not called Apush, but Tukay?”

The child loved to read so much, he wanted everything so eagerly.know,
That it was difficult to evaluate success with a simple mark"five",
Everything that was ordered, I wrote, read poems from different books,
This student received a commendation.
And if from childhood the boy is happy with learning and happy with books,
He will also earn many awards in his life.