The record of lives

You search for the impossible in people's faces.
Unfulfilled dreams, desires and emotions
apocryphal necrologies, tiny requiems of lives,
in a single glance, in a stunned realization
in a single glance!
In your feelings, in your thoughts, you cannot be independent,
free, for if the footprints of snarling men
you yourself become an animal:
And where is there nowadays that which forgets all,
and liberating laughter?

Canst thou know thyself, if thou tell on another or betray?
You live your existence by a recipe,
- the answers, the recurring questions
But you can't even guess!
- From novels, from the ivory tower of fiction
you greet with a kiss on the hand
of unappreciative cockroaches drooling,
chewing kittens who are the fashionistas of malls
of fashionable boutiques
alone, self-absorbed, and poetry, poetry,

as ars poetica, is a state of being,
or a self-satisfied sense of vocation.
completely independent of their character!
- Eternally restless, prophetic
dissatisfaction in thee:
To bloody thyself with labels,
and love on your knees
in bunches of verses,
like a knight of fair hope without chains!
Thou dost chastise and blame thyself:
"Wast thou worse and more old-fashioned than these?!
Thou didst think that in the hearts of ladies
Thou couldst resurrect it again,
as from an acidified Phoenix's chamber.
...the Song of Songs,
the immortal universe?

No! Polite gentlemen have begun
by your wise and wise kinsmen
and the books that cherish knowledge,
and no man can ask thee:
"Was a rich restaurant your main attraction,
or your luxury?"
No, and no again!
Maybe nowadays you're a minute man.
...are having a secret affair,
and the bohemian charades of the profiteers
Is wiping out the chivalry that's left,
The last stumps of the remaining stumps,

But in the eternal blaze of passion
To find and recognize the present is difficult,
of the complex and simple,
the pre-coded secrets of glances:
The Magic! Two human hearts with each other,
can only beat for each other!