Poets (excerpt)

3

What can I do, blind and outcast
In a world where all are fathered and sighted,
Where passions go over anathemas
As if over embankments! Where a lament
Is called - sniffles!

What can I do, by rib and Providence
Singing! - Like a wire! Sunburn! Siberia!
I travel my delusions - like a bridge!
With their weightlessness
In a world of weights.

What can I do, singer and firstborn,
In a world where the blackest - is gray!
Where inspiration is kept, as in a thermos!
With this infinity
In a finite world?!