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since life has been a gift to you, without the least of charge,
the voices of a madding crowd, sounded all the same
with your drugged emotions that echoed falsely large.
Mourning with every fake love, naked, lost and drinking
and claiming immaterial deeds, from the immortal Ones,
you stuttered opera arias, pretending you were singing,
a student of airs and ignorance, who never had a chance.
What glory you were seeking on the Left Bank of the River
while the stuff you were craving for, you’d find in every place
and as you expected miracles, in Paris, you got a shiver
provoking the illusions of those who live in jails.
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and with one and only breath, turned off the stage – light
you murmured your old monologues, too late or too soon
and vanished as a shadow, in the darkness of the night.