Poetry carries the burning of a truth we do not want to stand on. The idea that the future we do not have time to create, in fact, consists in decorating life, is shaken by us, now in the desperate park.
But the inner force of poetry is so great that the strange hopelessness that the strings contain is destroying the beauty of poetry. If such a beautiful poem is written, the past has not been wasted and there is still time to save the future. There should be.
