Innocent Magicians

Well, my past love, I was already a broken man.
Well I’ve been unbroken, for many years.

Love doesn’t buy you happiness,
But sooths present pain.

My rhymes are manly and rough,
Unlike poetry, when joy meets others,
I live with a diseased brain,
Vurdulaci venom circulating in the vein,
My mind follows suit,
And poison creeps soaks the weary body,
It is breaking with age,
It’s rotteness, I know,
Both of character and a bitter soul,

My joys are different, they are moments,
Of very trifle things that others scoff,
And disrespect.

My love for a sparrow as great
As my cold hate for everything else,

One moment existing, another arising,
In a Kaleidoscopic game.

My love for Heavens loyal by oath,
Conviction and reason,
As my wretchedness that crept
A long time within as strong,
As my kind play.

“Great nature!” – So they said,
What of that, after all these wasted years,
No fruition in labors or works,
My first ten years were forgotten,
Some childhood memories,
My second ten years taken by cold
Vulgarity and brutality of maturing quick,
Among the wolves of street-raised pack,
The third ten years taken by madness,
Descent to Tartarus gargantuan wings,
Mad people do feel pain! In their smiles,
In their deranged laughter there is a word:
“I want to forget, forgetfulness is all”.
When now I begun the fourth climb,
I promise, I’m half-way through,
I sacrificed this world, this life behind,

Somehow I’m still enslaved, unlike some saint,
By melancholy, poisoned past,
Looking towards the future lightly,
There was no bright past,
I see nothing there, liberative death and stars

I gaze my future fortunes a grave, audacious grin,
I know I should commit to serious things,

Madness conquered makes me a fourfold man,
Magician, hermit, stag and ram,
Understanding in her eyes in silence,

I know, that passed to, in her battles, hate.

What to do? Where to go? Therefore I must be!
Some while away this life, creating art in-between,
Your everyday salaryman with gods of little things,
What to convey? The limit of understanding,
Is when your life ends, empathy is a fool’s
Way of saying: I commiserate, we are not the same.

We are the broken men, we the crippled, the insane,
If you want to help, never violate our sacred things,
Let the crows sing, the forests ponder deep,
The spirits fly, don’t hurt our pride! We are
Of nobility, and we tower above you,
We never won, but overcame a Pyrrhic war,
We lost a valiant share of soldiers, and the remnants,
Deformed, are the totality of this crooked soul!

Now hush, no more, go pursue a life away from lepers,
We find our kind sometimes, reflecting comradeship
In their eyes.

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