You survived not to live on your time is short, you have to give a proof of truth - Zbigniew Herbert

if the subject of art will be a broken jug
a small broken soul
with a great self-pity what will remain of us
will be like tears of lovers in a small dirty hotel when wallpapers dawn

Go where the others have gone, to the tenebrous limit
for the golden fleece of void, your ultimate prize
go upright among those who are on their knees
among those turning their backs on and those fallen to dust.

And do not forgive indeed it is beyond your power
to forgive in the name of those betrayed at dawn