It's hard to go through a throng,
And trying to feign, that I'm not dead,
And trying to tell about a play
Of tragic feels to the naive souls.
And looking in the nightmare dark,
Trying to find in whirls - a system.
That for the purpose to elicit
From a pale art's dawn - the fire of life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem