Mis Harapos

Dream knight, I have a pen instead of a sword
My word is the fortress of my versed illusion
My romantic mane, so straight and badly combed
Is more beautiful than the curled linon braids

I have a cousin, he is rich, powerful, well-liked
I am poor, I am sick, I think, I write, and I know how to dream
And one night of those bitter nights I have suffered
My rags brushed against his tuxedo as he passed by

He looked at me casually, did not let his white hand
Shake hands with mine, filled with fear
And his tuxedo dressed him, my elegant cousin-brother
And he walked away ashamed of his dreamer cousin

The icy time at times intensified mercilessly
I felt cold inside, cold outside, and everything like that
And leaning against a door, I burst into compulsive tears
And crying like a child, like a man, I cursed