On the road to the town where the fire had raged
I met the one who spoke to me:
come, go with me,
be my friend and let me
lead you through the narrow streets of this black

We walked for half an hour, speaking to each other, keeping silence,
watching the black remnants of the houses.

Then he, who brought me there, stood still:
“look at me, look me right in the eyes.”

When I looked I did not see him but a bird:
his wings more black than the charcoaled rests
around us,
his eyes more red than the devastating fire.

Yet his mouth spoke.
And the words he spoke were my words
and the wings which were black were my black
and the eyes staring at me were my eyes,
but the fire in his eyes was not my fire.



Daring to live in eyes
red, even the yellowest
blacker than white
four times
once more the last
just go now

daring to believe in eyes floating
in eyes
just go with me now

no, not the last, oh no, not the last
daring to look
the wings broken
sacks full of rain
painting rain
sacks full of wet halfheavy nomore
let us look
come, let us look at sacks full of rain
with wet halfheavy nomore

yet starting to florish again
just getting up again as the first one
living again pure like rain
giving still more, still more
come go with me now.



In your eyes only
is hidden
what awakes me

the year passes away
and each thing is dreamed up

remembrance remains
and waits

sublimity accuses me
and puts me down
full of madness
I perpetrate time and again
the sweet deeds
that torment me
until today

I praise you

thinner than threads I draw
what binds me
dreamed up I pass away
in another time
fulfilled I split.

Anthonie Sas