Life is beautiful, indeed,
when no life is left to live.
Streetcar between cursive of rain.
You are a secret by the window.
I right away accepted symbols.
This is a chance in many ways.
Yes, I will look for you in trees,
above the mountains and seas.
But stubborn life will stray aside.
I will forget and never mind.
The distant city’ streets in lights
and avenues are straight and wide.
My time will stop, but I will rush.
And will collect all passing slush.
Sunflowers will follow suns,
will turn to happiness and fun.
And I’ll watch, but not catch up.
It will be sore, it will upset.
I’ll revolt and will be sad.
And I’ll sin and I will laugh
And I will fight and will be tough.
I will be soft and bitten up.
And like for beggar alms his craft,
I ask you to forgive my pray,
when I’ll write a bitter play.
Yes, life is beautiful, indeed,
when it is no need for deeds.
Rain stopped. No more rails.
No more trams, no more trails.
Sometimes in summer’s stuffy nights
I see your dreams and hate my days.
10.2019 New York