SACKS, PAGES FROM A DIARY

Why rebellion without reason?
For nothing or mere pleasure? No reason.
Horses trotting and running.
Men bleed to death, coming and coming.

The bang-bang deafens.
The day thus darkens. No heavens.
The veil of night descends. Sevens and more sevens.
And another man suffers. My impressions.

The croaking of frogs and toads.
On my body, only rags, walking roads.
In bars, chats. Some are in codes.
I carry my bag on my back. My load.

It's stuffed with souvenirs. On my behalf.
Memories that make me laugh.
When I left life behind me the staff.
And with time I could feel so much gaff.

Longing for the hope and smile
that I felt long ago as a child
that living in a wandering wild
I would build a scale, kind of styled.

Weighing intentions and acts
of an entire world of only facts.
Tongues that make deals in my maps.
Only with more than a thousand sacks.
Only with more than a thousand sacks.

To collect the news from TV, as I look.
And newspaper, and also yearbook.
And on the display map, that I took,
three out of four are aquariums. Hook.
How to imagine in a whole as I look
all these politicians with the same book?
Enemies, but such partners, I understood,
in the manufacture of ashtrays, as we look.

And another century has passed.
Twenty have already died, so fast.
And living the twenty-first, I see blast.
Wandering, can I believe on the last?...

Filling, only filling I will fill sack after sack.
How many sacks will I have to fill. How many sacks?
Filling, only filling I will fill sack after sack.
How many sacks will I have to fill. How many sacks?