Machine

Can a human love a machine? I did it. 

Gears, they have rytmhic moves, 

dark brown, it prints the paper

ever the same movements, carefree.

A man would stand next to it,

controlling it with his hand.

Machine is working honestly non-stop.

It was a press machine,

I watched it in admiration,

the spectre enchanted me.

In the dark evening, near the shop

Machine is working like a careless snob.

I was watching but at the same time

My eyes were looking around anxiously,

those who see me, might think I was crasy.

Finally, I walked away...

The rytmhic sounds liky endlessly 

Can it turn a human

Would it be a miracle?

If I love it enough.

I was going there almost every day.

More and more I was obsessed with it

With a passion,

my soul slowly turned to the machine.

One day in the dark

one guy in the park...

He was watching me with evil looks.

I fled, a pang inside me.

Can it turn a person 

if I give it my spirit?

I didn't go there for a while 

I couldn't do it.

But the machine is still in my mind 

in the end, I decided to see it again.

Around of atelier there was large and empty

A construction site.

Trashes, stuff that doesn't work anymore 

My God machine! There...

A baton beside it.

No way, no!

Such a silent, static.

Someone had broken it or

naturally it was broken

I don't know, 

Then I understand that , 

I was a miserable romantic.

But the truth is, it never says a lie.

As if for a moment I saw a movement.

Over it a few drops, does it cry?

My God, can I bring it back 

with my prayer?

A few minutes later, rain got faster

Hopelessly I left it.