OPTIMISM SCEPTICALLY

I am gradually abandoned by my youthful dreams of heroic masculinity: scripts and composed scripts for plays. Slowly, the prison cages of my initial dementia click like a tightened noose on the gears of my mind. Where are the memories of sacred loves, when the immortal power of love could be transmitted at a glance?! 

Perhaps it is only in me that the flickering, the ever-digesting, slowly fading, they too are leaving me, the friends who once fought for me, and understood that I was born vulnerable, even as a coward. - The physical signs of ageing are gradually taking control of the molecular structure of my mind and body. Nervous storms of emotion and mood greet me, like unexpected guests again. 

There can be no more peace of mind, no more happiness that can take root and not be tempted daily by the Cerberus dogs of depression. The dripped wax-light of romance is only playing with me. Gradually my sight fades, the initial, cherished union fades, and the crimson-veined sunset of twilight flickers like a black blur.

The liveliness, the lifelessness, is fading in me, - but I cannot give the carpet-swept little secrets of my beating heart to the unknown, familiar Dear One, who may even now be patiently waiting for me, and attentively advising me. 

Have I still a chance? - I ask myself. And maybe, if in the unknown future, an encouraging hand reaches out and lifts me up, I can cling to it...