Proverb Poem by Gaston Karel Mathilde Burssens

The electronic eye now aims
at every movement.
Its beam which should be purple
shines green on my face.

Purple and green are as poisonous as the questions:
what used to stop me from sleeping?
Why are my temples greyer
and wiser?

I know the beam pierces my field of vision
as if my eyes
must search implicitly the wisdom in certain things,
that drip from the rain in the drop of stars
- when one must either pump or drown -
close to the electronic eye of the needle
through which my camel will soon have to pass.

Translation: John Stevens Wade