perhaps i have to ask myself
why i mumble
like no other restless bee
that i can be
in the twilight years
of my life
do i refuse to see light?
have i fallen in love with my
own darkness?
do i wish the blindness of
wisdom?
is wisdom blind?
is there light at the end of this tunnel?
am i in this tunnel?
i am in a room with only one window
and it faces the road
where everyone passes tonight
this is the only passage to their homes
and they simply pass by here
i make no sound
when i open these windows
when i close them
repeatedly
perhaps i exist and they know it
perhaps they only have respect for my silence
perhaps i am to blame for all these
perhaps i have chosen silence
its golden sheen
its private space
i am thinking, and that is the most important thing that is happening
in all my life
even without you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem