VISUAL LIFE

This year too there has been New Year's cheer, a boisterous, bohemian shower, Winter's busy, busy, busy, minute by minute, has suddenly produced its merciless killers: bearded icicles stood guard under almost every eave, - if anyone should stray, they would fall on their backs and stab them! 

Tearing stars of flakes fell from the sky, And one might - like a landmine of cacophony - Crunch like warming slices of toast. In a terrible sky-earth assault Against judging Nature, man can have no word - In dim moonlight now bathe human star-gazes, Man can scarce survive the bread-winning:

He drags, he drags his ever lazier legs, Worn out by six flights of twenty, An unquestioning, unquestioning robot, - He wonders: how much I could not do for my toiling family, When the raindrops dance on the ground, The sky too, in pain, ponders, weeps. 

- Man is waning, he cannot avoid passing away, and cannot befriend the sacred laws of mortality! He is forced to avoid the mirror that is ready to show all, lest by accident he spit in his own face! 

Only a few happy crumbs and morsels can he tear from his life, taking care of the delicate cross-section of existence, and he is indignant and eternally bitterly helpless because the child cries that

His favourite pet is a prisoner of the merchants, And because he has never tasted a chocolate soufflé! The tax return summons us to the shop window with the banging of unforgiving organ chords: 

"Well, how much do you really have?" - And every word is like a heavy slap in the face of the little man's worn, sour face - happiness is ruined by indifference and dehumanism, 

the little man is walking home after a day's work, the hungry child's mouths are crying out for just satisfaction, demanding: in shame, with penitent self-pity, the maintainable Morality should be sunk, but it cannot!