Sadness

IT is a huge curtain,

stretched at a distance around me.

Aimless gypsies crawl up and over the curtain.

They are my days.

They neither sing nor laugh

but hop over the top of my sadness.

Here and there one wears a gay shirt.

He is faster than the rest.

Even in my sleep with closed eyes

I cannot pierce this drapery.

Some day I will wind a child’s smile around my face

and thus disguised

slip through the curtain and jump…

Where?

Ah yes, where?