Once again it has grown dark early.
Unbelievable how the nights become longer.
And I shall spend the
autumn with solitude for company.
The shutters were closed
early but through the slats I observe the
passers-by on the pavement opposite.
In the apartment black, immense silence,
just mutual abuse from next door.
They’re rowing again!
His wages have been gambled
away and Martha has no milk to feed the
baby. Wait and see, soon she’ll be
ringing the bell, inconsolable.
Every evening the same story.
Me alone, she with her partner
but which of the two of us is more alone?
Life’s a rented house and its
belongings are ruled by my house lord
and they’re not mine.
Once the house is
empty and I’m loaded into a coffin
to go to my permanent abode,
two metres long,
it won’t make a differenceif I lived in
palaces or in a farmhouse full of
weed and thorn.
Nor will anyone care
who this body belonged to,
white or black or if it was the
flesh of a skeleton.
But the merchants that rule
usspread discordand their enemy is
clearly peace and accord.
(Published in Kafla Intercontinental - Summer 2015)