Write something about life - You will ask me one day. It will probably be one of the quiet evenings When the nature dives into the sunrays And present itself to its utmost - Then you are mostly inclined To philosophical talks.
I will not answer to your request Because I always write about life, Regardless of the form In which I present my writings: Not necessarily poetry but lines Without beginning or end.
You will nevertheless ask me To write about life - maybe something new, That has not been written yet, But of course whatever one writes Is newat least for him.
You never knew what I expected from life, And I will never betray myself - Neither in dreams or under my pen One will see or hear Words of confession Who said once, That art and life Cannot coexist?