A thing called poetry is not enough
To explain what a man feels towards a woman, or towards a man
This brave new world is very tough
For those who consume the goods without producing anything, or without friends
The cup that I broke yesterday, is completely forgotten now
The memories from the childhood still awake warm feelings, or shameful sometimes
Music is in my head: warm, fascinating, how to stay with it, how?
How to play the same song that the spring plays with the drops of warm rain... shall go, read the Times
Ohh, after some decades already thinking about death,
New problems I am not ready to face, new people to fear, hard...
And new mobile phones – can’t follow them, yes,
I have to lie down and die? No, wait for my heart...
27.02.09
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