Reality plays
As a reflection in the windows,
I hear not sounds, but their echoes.
Blood no longer trickles from a fingertip,
It flows along rivers,
Holidays and dates get lost in weekdays.

From the cradle’s edge the horizon has dropped,
The boundless planet has become a little ball,
Time flies faster,
Yet as if it stopped —
The soul has grown: it hasn’t enough room.

Dulled eyes already look at the ground,
And the frail body betrays —
Soon the next doors will open
To my “always” from “never.”