Poezja

We did not concede, 
textured life was absurd 
tried to struggle against misfortune; were thrown out. 
To find a new definition, 
of the restless syndrome, 
without cause and ending, 
the untouchable of the underworld, 
were screaming terribly. 
 
Conflict widens in the face of existence 
the fall was inevitable. 
Incessant goading on the spastic legs, 
brought out the god of sorrows, 
endurance was not the answer. 
Danger was always lurking in the corner. 
 
Strange sounds and frigthening, 
sights are discernible 
the tremors are felt in deep crevices. 
You want to touch all the poles. 
run away from giants, 
smash the hypocrite; 
and see your face in a dark mirror.