Montag, 15. November 2010


To M

That night, where you didn't come
I didn't fall asleep, but often went outside
And it rained, and I went back inside.

Then I didn't know, but I do know now:
That night it was already, as in those later nights
Where you never came again, and I didn't sleep
And I almost didn't wait any longer
But I often went outside
Because it rained out there, and was cool.

But after those nights and even in later years still
I heard when the rain dripped, your steps
Outside and in the wind, your voice
And your crying at the cold corner, because
You could not get in.

This is why I often got up in the night and
Went outside and opened the door and
Let in those who had no home.
And there came beggars and whores and riffraff
And all kinds of people.

Now many years have gone by, and even though
Rain still drips and wind goes
If you came now in the night, I know
I wouldn't know you anymore, neither your voice
And nor your face, because it is changed.

But even now I hear steps in the wind
And crying in the rain and that someone
Wants to get in.

(Even though you never did come then, love, and it was me that waited—!)
And I want to go outside
And open the door and see if no one has come.
But I don't get up and don't go outside and don't see
And no one comes anyway.


Keine Kommentare:

Kommentar veröffentlichen