You leave; leaves get dry,
Kind flowers vanish,
Trees wrinkle,
You leave and the whole garden is in pain.
Swallows' hearts hide the morning songs,
And I struggle with my shadow,
Once I pray for your coming,
Then I curse your leaving,
Once I create a crazy world,
Then I clash with my being,
And at times:
I mourn a vacant heart.
From the burning feet on a desert,
Until a business class flight,
I travel to you.
From behind the tall walls of child alleys
Until the short ramparts of old ages
I hear your voice.
In an ever seen and unseen moon
I see you.
In all dark and silent nights
I look for you.
And I do not understand;
The philosophy of being without you:
From Zarathustra until Nietzsche.
