THE DOWRY

I want to deceive life,
That harlot who dances in the laps of the richest,
But it no longer takes bonds,
Cheques or credit cards, all it likes is listening
To the rustling of cash,
And the whir of gold dust. Its clients are chosen ones,
The older it becomes, the more distrustful and insatiable it gets.

When it laughs into my face,
I can feel the odour of many a client's greed,
And there is nothing else left to do
But to open another bottle
And light another cigarette,
Because waiting for life
To come to my embrace is my destiny.

I greeted another morning in the bartender's company,
With an empty bottle in front of me,
A crumpled cigarette,
And a cloud of cigarette smoke
Into which futile words disappear.

And now life is singing in the embrace of a wealthy client,
Its eyes wonderful
And irresistible,
Like a godess of love winking at you,
But we know,
Me and the bartender,
That it is a many-faced nymph.

Life does not care about our story,
It laxly whispers into the ears of a new client,
Watching me as if I was a suitor without dowry.
You are mistaken, Life.
There is more dowry in me
Than in all your wealthy clients put together.
Yes, Life, I deceived you,
My poems are my dowry,
In which I sang praise to death as the incorruptible judge,
And you as a harlot to the wealthiest.