Crazy is someone who falls down
gets up and walks again
and with erratic pain
moves ankle and knee.
However, as if wings
he had, he moves again
the trench calls in vain
because he is not staying.
And if you ask for the reason
maybe I can still say this thing:
that waiting are a woman
and a more beautiful death.
Well it is crazy and naive,
because over each home
for so long already only
the wind embraces as it blows.
And pulled down the walls
and the plum tree
and it is filled with fear
the night in its country.
Oh! If I could believe: I carry
not only inside of me a
lot of valuable things and a
home to go back to.
If only there were! And like before
on the wide and old veranda
jam turning cold
feel the bee of peace humming,
and among sleepy gardens
I would pick up
sun through the foliage and fruits
that nude they would move
and Fanni would wait for me
blond next to the hedge,
and she would write a slow
shadow in the quiet morning
but yet maybe still is!
the moon is so round!
Do not keep going, friend,
Yell at me! And I get up!
June 22, 2004
