Grows mortally
The melancholy in the night on the sonorous strings of a feelings.
And here the consciousness is already aimless,
Shouts violently from all madnesses.
The star in a silence cooled down rings:
As you think - so, means, and live!
And consequently from the love losted
Some cold ashes at all you will not find!
Oh My God! Oh as it is madly sick
To recognise the absurd of the fatal insults
And to fall on a bench powerlessly,
Enduring the grown dumb shame.
Farewell, darling! Wipe a teardrop.
Well who so has managed to conjure,
That with me, in a crude night, in an embrace,
An apart has gone out for a walk?
3.08.2011
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem