Is there anything left from the dinner last night
From the fragile twofold reflections
Some piece of food some drops of wine over the table
Last night echoes are falling monotonously like the February snow
Where have the friends gone — where is their exhausting sound
Silence is clattering instead
Slapping rapping tremor rustle and
Strenuous feet hands faces eyes
Weariness of nerves
An invisible hand is moving all over my face
It is gathering pieces of dispersed anger
Children are painting colorful dreams in the air
Happiness is on top of a high mountain with a white cap
Why do we always protect ourselves from unspoken words
Counting drained signs of the soul
Is tiring and fearful
Just like counting cuckoo’s eggs
If you only were there where a night before
Shadows were dining
And they spilled all over the floor
Red wine from our Water…