My friend,
I am very and very sick,
How the pain came,
I just cannot explain,
Feeling
Like a grove in the thick.
Or as if it were snow
Alcohol cloaked my brain.
My ears flutter like wings
Of a bird, they can't
Stand anymore
On the leg of my neck.
And this black man,
He just sits on my bed,
Turns my sleep into wreck.
This black man
Puts his finger
On the filthiest book,
Over me, like a priest over dead,
Reads me tales of a drunken crook
Filling my heart with
Nothing but dread.
Black man,
Black man, so black,
'Listen to me', - he said
And muttered -
'He was all full of dreams,
And his eyes - full of fire.
But he lived in a land
Of the worst thugs and liars.
Where the snow in December
Is demonically white,
And snowstorms
Dance and zest,
Yes, a crook,
But so bright,
Of the type
That is best.
He's an elegant poet,
Moreover, at times
Named someone over forty,
With her lame silhouette,
His lovely and naughty.
Happiness is agile hands and brain,
We all know clumsy souls
For being just sad,
But tell me again
Who cares that pain
Is mostly due to lies of a hand.
During worst thunderstorms,
When you are feeling dizzy,
And the loss is too hard,
Seeming happy and easy
Is the one finest art.
"Black man,
But you cannot do that,
You do not live to preach,
Why do I care
About some poet,
Read this to others,
If you need to teach."
And black man
Is staring at me directly,
And blue vomit
Become his eyes,
As if he wants to say
I am that crook exactly,
Who stole something
With my hands full of lies.
***
My friend,
I am very and very sick,
How the pain came,
I just cannot explain,
Feeling
Like a grove in the thick.
Or as if it were snow
Alcohol cloaked my brain.
A night of frost
The alley is calm,
The garden is full
Of each tree like knight,
And my solitude stands,
And I wait for no one,
And, sprinkled in lime,
The valley is white.
Somewhere a cry
Of a bird of prey
Wooden riders start
Their clattering road,
And this black man,
Sits my chair again,
With his cylinder raised
And his casual coat.
'Listen, listen -
He hisses at me,
As he moves
Close by bit,
I have never seen a bastard
Like thee,
Suffer the nights
Of no sleep.
Oh, I made a mistake,
It's a night of full moon,
But what else
Needs a monkey who's drowsy,
Maybe she will arrive,
With her fat legs and soon,
You will read her
Your poems, oh, lousy.
I do love all the poets,
The funniest species,
I always find there
A story so stuck,
How a boy reads a poem
To a maiden who's speechless
Pretending philosophy,
Wanting to fuck.
I don't know
In which village
This peasant
Grew up,
Yellow head
On the image
And blue eyes
All round.
He's now adult and poet,
Moreover, at times
Calls someone over forty,
With her lame silhouette
His lovely and naughty.'
Black man, black man,
You are a bad guest,
I have heard
From the others about it all clear.
I am furious
And I am at unrest
I am throwing my walking stick
At the mirror...
The moon died
And the skies are awoken.
Oh, the night,
What have you done?
I am standing
near a mirror that's broken
In a cylinder
And there is no one.