Every rocket is such a pain
In my heart, in my stomach.

Not sure what evil can gain...
My pain is long like Potomac.

I am suffering for the world,
But I am not any Messiah,
I have not any eternal sword...
I am suffering - it's me, argh.

It is not a beetle buzzing in the reed.
It is my Jewish catharsis, it's my creed.

Israel, go ahead, time to go.
Shema.
There are no words
And there are not worlds...

Israel, sing a song,
Adonai must be blessed,
Time is coming.

Israel, there is a lot of pain,
My teeth are shaking
Like a bomb in Hiroshima,
Like an aborted foetus...

This world is aborted too
And there is no other place,
I see the holy city on fire,
In blasphemy, bitterly...

Time for exile?

One day
Time to go...
Away...
Who knows?

It will be a sunny day or it will be raining,
Ants will go to work or birds will be singing,
Kids will go to school and they will be painting,
But during short breaks they will be swinging.

You think that you will be still remembered
Like an icon of pop culture or a national hero...
Let you know how quickly people are forgotten!
Thus, do not wait for recognition after your death.

Just go to the light whenever you are still alive.
Just go to the light when your eyes are eternally closed.

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

She said:

Oh, Newnaihr, You wrote that You lost the link,
That You got lost in the thicket of e-mails...
Oh, a clean river, "Three ways of spilling the ink"
You probably read night and day...

Oh, Newnaihr, You missed the seminar meeting,
Our faces and glances passed...
Oh, a clear river, to welcome You
I'm coming with my thoughts today...

Oh, Newnaihr, the virtual meeting rushed,
In the thicket of e-mails You came to find the way...
Oh, a sweet river, nothing happened after all,
Since we will meet with our thoughts...

Oh, Newnaihr, we will also establish our own seminar,
We will summon the spirit of Wittgenstein...
Oh, a young river, at our own Zoom-inar
We'll talk to one another...

Oh, Newnaihr, and when this pandemic is over,
When the plague is gone and they open the sky...
Oh, a beautiful river, I'll swim, I know it,
To You... and we'll go to the pub...

Oh, Newnaihr, what will it be, I ask,
When You unvirtually see me...
Oh, the Ffidrac River, yes, I see You
And yet it's just the Internet...

Oh, Newnaihr, when the plague is over,
When we go to the castle in Yllihpreac...
Oh, a proud river, ironic, that thinks
Who I am and who I am not...

O Newnaihr, Welsh seagulls will rise,
When we dream on the meadow...
Not me for You: neither You nor "we"!
We will only lie in the green...

Oh, Newnaihr, there will be nothing left,
No troubadour will remember us...
We won't do anything wrong anyway,
It's just a red, ****** garden of love.

The wisdom love.

3/21/21

I saw days without a night,
I saw dreams, time that had flowed past
Like lava permanently, strongly – –
I saw faces that I knew –
A great many people – now their images blurred –
I saw my death, I saw ...
I saw a poem about it, I wrote – –
And I was there where – as I thought –
Nobody had ever been before me –
Nobody had passed this road so tightly,
By self.
And I saw the sadness, despair, concern,
I placed them modestly on my knee,
Because they were mine – so mine –
And I saw a world that had passed,
I was waiting for a new one – I did not live to see it –
Now there is only ordinary life left,
The poetry is gone, it bathes in the sun,
Not with me, not for me, not for
You.
There are only a growl and envy in the crowd.
The man waits for his end like a fly.
There's nothing left. There is only earth,
Only the end, only the memory of a guest.

9/23/20

Oh, Prince Philip, you have served us for so long,
For seventy years… The Queen’s Kephas, the rock!
Sometimes it seems that you have always been here...
Like a Servant of the Monarchy, like power, like glory!

Oh, Prince Philip, the son of the Greek Corfu,
You, the Danish Hamlet, you, the brave soldier!
Today your life has died out, today you go to sleep...
So to sleep forever… with God in a permanent covenant!

Your city is crying and the rain is pouring down hard!
Sorrow on the faces of the Britons... You died during the plague,
You left like Paris, real, in the morning, in the spring...

Where are you going now? What kind of images do you see?
What is there after death? Will you reveal these secrets?
Are you taking these to the grave, for yourself, unfortunately?...

9.4.2021.,
On the day of the death of the Greek, Danish and English Prince Philip, husband of the Queen.