Ingeborg Bachmann (1926 - 1973 / Austria)
Each and every thing cuts wounds,
and neither of us has forgiven the other.
Hurting like you and hurtful,
I lived towards you.
Every touch augments
the pure, the spiritual touch;
we experience it as we age,
turned into coldest silence.
Comments about this poem (Bruderschaft by Ingeborg Bachmann )
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