The crows are hunting
a little white cat,
right above your head.
I see you looking
at the moss, stone and a bridge,
but you never look up.
If you stare madly enough,
you will see the death.
I see you dead,
you see me mad.
My brain is free,
and i feel,
how Satan grows up,
in a burden home of mine.
Don't shut your eyes,
just look.
Look wiser and deeper.
Notice the smell, blind boy.
Notice the fear.
Then, and only then,
you will be free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem