What about the poet criss-crossing the country
seeking a sponsor for his new book,
absorbing himself like a cigarette
inside emptiness and outside solitude?

One day he will seek a sponsor for longing,
a sponsor for his passion and renewal,
and will find only a sponsor for suffering,
for the art kills the poet himself.

Don’t become sponsors of the crazy poet,
of the poet drunk on the human grief.
Let him realise that in crisis situations
he gets prepared for a cruel decease.

The sainted oak tree watered with tears,
rooted in the dream and branched in hope,
his magic is the magic of Dodona.[1]
Is it futurity or only memory?

After the poet’s death the book is published.
It finally overcomes its humiliation,
not reconciling with its epoch,
awaiting its revival and solidification.

© Ragip Sylaj