Hopelessness and Cash

On the slippery road of London
in the lunar white fog
everything changes its structures
in the recognition of spoiling.
Forehead shows up in the thistles
or in the soil.
It is difficult to figure.
Someone whispers
with sky about marvels.
On the lips is something:
the mischievous inebriation.
The Divine Book
is in the mud.
It is inaccessible
on the separation
of pure considerations.
Hopelessness and cash
are two words
that flickering
before starry vision.
From where does it go?
From the concealing spot.
Where does it go?
Maybe in the nothingness.
Humanity is the shouter
near expending woods.
How is history?
It knows just the blood.
How is society?
It is in influence of cash.

Cyprian Norwid

Translator and Photographer Igor Marinovsky from family Sufyan


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It is me during my travel in town Lanivtsi

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