you get fed up
with woes
and sorrow watches
you
in that well folded
silence
another sadness comes
to you
like a black bird
on the window
it sings
its songs sting
your heart
and you pay respect
to its art
with tears
you get tired with all
these
and you wish
that all your brains
should have been
spent
on common commerce
but then you know
it well
money is not an answer
it can be the real
evil
you mumble like
a philosopher stripped out
of sanity
the power to
meet
Angst eye to eye
is Art
no civilization has
ever
called it
Ugly
and that is enough
to lull you to
sleep
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem