Vacation
Primary school in a forest. Floating clouds, crossed the sky, whistling, thinking something.
The primary school garden, under a swing, there’s an empty shadow. A sunflower was blooming, like a sundial for bees and cabbage maggots.
By chance, the shadow of something big.
……What a very short moment.
Happy things passed. Like floating clouds, reassuring all.
Song about August travel feeling
On the tough grass of a summit, a modest meal
On the parasol, it bloomed
Ah, summer’s excursion, I’d climb with my finger
A line of clear sky
This white cloud, like a dream
In the journey, a half-sleep of the day, reflected to my heart
It silently erased, like the wood of a deciduous tree
Ah, this colour, penetrated to the top
At the end of the assembly lines were seen in the distance
A nostalgia, still unknown
Traveller’s night song: FRÄULEIN A. MUROHU GEWIDMET
It continued to rain, the cold rain
The lamp I carried
That lit my feet a little
The night was far but I walked and walked
Why was I going to walk
Despite I gave up, included my bed
Also warm stories and the candle– however
Why I walked
When the maint arrives, then I’ll sleep
I walk to where…… like this
What do I do
I wet myself completely, wetting myself
The happy memory, I’m still looking for it……
Of my mother, towards the city, with regret in the deep black only
To the beautiful woman who was passing away
Sometimes before my eyes the shadow appeared
To this world, by a ghost, forgot
A land I know not, when apple trees scented
Unfamiliar, on the starry sky of the distant clear night
Exchanges between summer and spring were not hectic on the sky
–Your smile of yore was not for me
–Your voice did not ring for me
Your silent illness and death, like a song in a dream
I lit a fire to this sadness came this evening
Dedicated the poor withered roses to you
With the moonlight wounded, it was the wake by me
Probably there are no signs in your memory
But also who the sad was not allowed, it’s me …
“The remains on the apple tree turned green, were to sleep eternally”
Imaginative pleasure in the night
Young foliage scented the wind stung my eyes
But my racing thought, what thing lurked in it
The little girl sang to me
–One evening in the dead of winter, it was
The light of the rough path was covered with snow
Pleasure of my heart
Had stolen through someone’s lip
Then I tried to console
My dry mouth sang a song to call
I passed like this…
In the snowy light of the midwinter evening…
Whose heart was hiding?
And so the little girl’s longing became a harsh presentiment
What was stolen? Tell me that, little girl
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