[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