I.
You say that there is nothing
To live for,
There is nothing
To achieve.

All is broken here,
There is nowhere to go,
All ways are not dear,
One can only scream, oh!

There are weak shadows of the fog,
There is hate, there are crimes,
There is all this human smog,
There is no sense to our lives.

II.
But I tell you that there is a better,
More wonderful and sunny world,
Where like soft songs, like a short meter,
We can fly, and this is not the last word.

I can tell you that this world remains,
This is on this... such dark earth,
On these streets without stairs
And heaven, if you still breath...

And if you still ask me where...
Where to go, how to have a life...
I will tell you that you can go there,
To yourself to find how rife

Not to be!

III.
And, there is also another world
No one alive has been there so far,
Neither Socrates, who was bald
Nor Plato, and any Judith Shklar!

No one was there and back again,
This is another air, another form of life,
And no one knows the time and when
One has to go there to fly, not strife...

No one knows but everybody’s so wise...
What we see here is real but material,
It is all teeming and brutal disguise,
But there are things there – unfamiliar

We are with them...

IV.
...yet.
Go straight.
It’s a net.

It is a bet!
Pascal’s freight.
Warm, wet...

The eternal bed.
Nothing left.
All left.

V.
You have no concept when you are born,
But when you die, much more is driven:
You see the light when the heaven is sworn,
You see the darkness when the hell is given.

Although during a life you often see nothing...
Like a bee, like a candle, like a batwing.
Like funny moray eels, we have to swim,
And funny is life, and later life is dim.

And, yes, a human being is a moth
That flies to the fire of the candle...
It is you and me, we are such both,
But in life we all want a bright spangle!


17.4.2021, night