Beyond dusk

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The strong, they break in silence, quietly, With smiles upon their pale, unyielding face... They shun the noise of fame, the vanity, The servile life within the palace space. They do not hide the joy they once had known, The freedom of the soul they dared to taste. While clay-like people, brittle, cold as stone, Despised their strength, their firm, unbending grace. The strong, though reeling, never cast the blame, Though others bent for gain, betrayed their trust, Exchanged their conscience for a tarnished name, And trampled honor deep into the dust. They watched as friends turned foes, consumed by spite, Rejoiced in others' falls, their spirits low, Yet never stooped to match their petty fight, Though weighed by burdens only they would know. The strong don’t save with words, but deeds alone, Though crosses heavy bend their weary wings. They bear the weight, though shattered to the bone, A burden not for weaker hearts or kings. And when they fall, the Lord Himself will rise To lift them from the pits that envy dug. The strong don’t weep, don’t preach, don’t moralize— Their lives alone inspire, their quiet tug. For them, the storm above the city’s dome Is nothing—what matters is the sun within. Who strives, achieves; who believes, finds a home; Who forgives, earns the right to love again. Though even strong ones break, they mend, they heal, For strength is not in never falling down, But rising every time, with hearts of steel, To wear once more the thorned, unyielding crown.

Life is a lie with enchanting anguish,

And that’s what makes it so powerful:

With its crude hand it writes

Lethal letters.

Every time I close my eyes, I say,

“Let the heart be disturbed.

Life might be a lie, but even life, sometimes,

Garnishes its deception with pleasures.

Turn your face to the gray-haired sky,

Try to read your fate in the moon;

Calm yourself, mortal, and don’t demand

The truth you can’t use.”

How good it feels, in the blizzard of cherry blossoms,

To think that life is a road.

Let frivolous darlings lie.

Let frivolous friends betray.

Whether a tender word caresses me

Or a tongue cuts sharper than a razorblade,

I’m ready for anything,

Ruthlessly used to it all.

I feel a chill from these heights.

The fire of stars carries no heat.

Those I loved have denied me.

Those I lived for have forgotten me.

Even so, repressed and persecuted,

I greet the dawn with a smile

On this earth, so close and so beloved,

And thank life for everything.

1925