Because I kept on living,
I kept on writing poems,
Despite the close proximity of fate;
And all my blessings
As well as all my curses
Are always up-to-date;
Symbolic is the wind,
Symbolic is the weather,
Because their beauty never wears out;
The nature always struggles
For the sake of being,
Has nothing to forget
Or to regret about;
But person’s mind is limited,
It always lives in borders;
Acquiring knowledge
If it wishes from outside;
The stepping stones of soul
Are mighty silences and
Sweet street corners,
Abandonment in kisses
And stifled pride;
The stepping stones of soul
Are acts of other beings,
Performed in kindness or indifference,
At whim;
My verses try to catch their feeling;
And calculate the wording
Tear up the events, sew them again,
And do the dreaming,
Attaching glowing
To life’s stream;
Because I kept on living,
I kept on writing verses,
Though sometimes
I refused to understand
The sense of it,
The secret knowing,
That all my wishes’re doomed to simple end;
And still I write
Because I can’t be worthless;
I need to make some beauty
Not to rot;
And to develop joy
In funny songs and jokes
Not that off-putting;
And celebrate
The clarity of thought.