[In Memory of Bruno Shultz]
The green eyes showed the tiredness
Although without name
Looking for a new form
Through the cloudy night
There was the brilliance
Mute expouding the wordless
As personal fragment of life
Wonderful and handsome
Prosperity although meaning ruin
Who knows how many old and
intelligent martyrdom is in the martyr
And how many cruel idea
Horrible transplant
Hate between strange races and
Species although all prisoners
In unluky life without solution
Ho can uncover in people the
Old faces, lough and glances?
Questions without answer
Illusion without reason
Infancy without happiness
All my words without sense
