PESSIMISTIC DAY-REMAINS

The pessimistic weekdays were many,

 the worn, useless school desks

 and the climbing Sisyphus ticket:

 insufficient - for the most part - and sufficient.

 The crossfire of promising eyes of treachery,

 and the piteous verdict

 of the inquisitions lurking in the eyes:

 'Let us see! Who dares to do more and more?"

 - In the hearts of men

 a murderous rage has been kindled,

 - It still frightens me, it may make me weep:

 The germs of my knowledge

 have been thinned, weeded

 by the stench of calumny and humiliation! 

- What did I know then,

 what might await me?

 - A ruined nervous system,

 a pessimism disguised by suicide?

 Sweet promises, or Janus-faced opportunists?

 In which the victim is always the scapegoat!

 - In the consciences of men,

 stigma-stamped and stifled,

 you are given the title of Luzer

 as an honour in the

 camp of innocent fools! 

There were many, lawless,

 pessimistic weekdays,

 many self-destructive consciousnesses of Nothingness:

 that you would remain that,

 but only the Apocalypse-roses

 were thrust upon me daily; 

I was oppressed, trampled on,

 made to feel small!

 I look back and see even now 

how the enslaved germs of youth,

 the trustworthy pillars of intellectual libraries,

 are dumbed down and humiliated,

 because "someone" has spoken out

 in defence of new ideas!

 And even now I can only speculate:

 did I receive the magic D-letter

 in exchange for the all-knowing

 silence of my silence,

 or merely for the knowledge

 of my sooner release?!