Uncertainty of a Heart
O my life! What a beautiful disaster it has become!
For the doses of my sunny days and starry nights grew numb,
And the sweet caress of my existence has partly succumbed.
It paralyzed me—as though my foresight had been overcome
By whispers creeping into my mind like an intruder's hum.
If I could depose the noisy image of my tomorrow,
Would it bring me silent war or peace amid the undertow?
How could I unfetter the finitude of my own window?
For my soul could barely perceive the playful tongue of a foe,
Or a friend's delightful persona behind an ugly show.
Yet I lament that the world has made its own foolish nickname
When filtered righteousness and glamorous deceit have enflamed.
On whom should I lean when moral transgressions take on their name?
Or should I wish to fly to the Heavens far from where I came?
For illusions seem true—and truth can be an elusive game.
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