There are blows in life, so formidable... I don't know!
Blows as from God's hatred; as if when struck
The undertow from everything suffered
Were forming wells in your soul…I don't know!

They are few, but they are. they open dark gullies
In the fiercest face and strongest back
Perhaps they are the colts of barbarous Attilas;
Or the black heralds sent to us by Death

They are profound abysses of the Christs of the soul
Of somе exalted faith that Destiny blasphеmes
Those bloodsoaked blows are crepitations
From bread burning at the oven door

And man…. Poor…creature! His eyes turn back, as
When someone claps us on the shoulder;
His crazed eyes turn back, and that he has lived
Forms a well, like a pool of guilt, in his gaze

There are blows in life, so formidable... I don't know!