Are you afraid?
Blessed one,
Where would you have ended up without fear?
The polite one is saved,
Obedient to the law of shackles.

You must not go there,
And don’t take that,
And here it WILL be uneasy,
And there wait for trouble.

In the center of the carousel
A frightened ascetic trembles.
But the paradox.
Having felt his priority,
His thoughts are merry —
He is a philosopher now.
A poet.