DON QUIXOTE - OWNERSHIP

All around us, blind Babel-clutter,

 linguistic bickering,

 the XXI century, ant-traffic,

 unemployment and abandoned

 Theiresias-hope,

 it is not too late to forget everything,

 to go to the death for our true Truth,

 with a new creed,

 with a new attitude! 

On the retained balance

 of our wavering self-confidence,

 We have survived the 

wraths of the spiteful,

 and the loves of Cassandra,

 And now should rest in harmony:

 Who in her mother's hug of refuge,

 Who in an equal hand of hope,

 which calls me dear, clings, 

and in the life-long punishment of compliments,

 I cannot be wholly reconciled to myself:

 I spend all my time in a cultic dump,

 I can only hope that above,

 where angels sing soothing

 telepathy melodies

In pearls of stars, 

Someone smiles back at me, 

And watches, guarding my restless dreams.

 - And among all the indecipherable

 Delilah glances,

 among all the flirtatious glances

 that twist my head,

 I do not know myself,

 and I do not understand why,

 with all its invisible electronic compasses,

 I am drawn like a magnet 

to the only emotion

 conspired by man: love.

They always asked the same question

 of the bunch of buffoons: 

"Do you still love me?!

 - And behind the deep-rooted

 Don Quixote's silence,

 there was a game of hide-and-seek:

 polite courtship!