It was a desperate gesture!
I bit the trail of cranes from the air.
Their lamentation could be heard,
a wailing,
they hindered,
they raised themselves
into a piece of flying
and they do not went anywhere anymore,
they remained in my soul
like a cloud.
It was a desperate gesture!
They where too high,
they where too... not mine,
they where flying without me,
I was too mine
and they where too them.
Sometimes I kill beautiful things
out of desperation,
out of loneliness.
I kill my horses and my pigeons,
my left step and my right step,
the touch of my women on my chest
and anything which exists in me,
anything who can live faraway from me,
because of desperation,
because of loneliness.