THE SURFACE

Once again, the "who misses" premonition

 of a huge fuss?

 Tell me, who misses it?

 After years and months

 of repetition on uninterrupted cogs,

 there is no point in throwing

 sweat-scented savings out of the window!

 - No small flat, no car, no wife with

 a sheltering refuge over my head

 - who could be happier

 and more contented after all this? 

Long spread tables, 

and here a proud tent spreading its wings,

 before an unknown host of guests,

 offers its bounteous bounty!

 I suppose they neither see nor hear:

 they have long since dipped in

 the more troubled petty worlds

 of themselves, 

and then have sunk as

 amused guests! 

I'm not amused by the big fuss!

 It chokes me! It distresses me that

 some proclaim the riches of sumptuous

 tables while down in the jelly-like depths

 the worm of poverty and despair

 gnaws at the iron roots

 of their so-called existence!

 - I have made a reservation

 - just for myself - as I like!

 On the island-periphery of 

a distant table-corner,

 in my stubborn selfishness, I had 

Consciousness and Law:

 the moral defence, which like

 a bulwark defended me:

 whispering commands to my dumb mouth,

 whispered their deliberate words,

 Be content with what thou hast,

 and haste not the mortal moment!"

 - Yet the rush of life is ever chasing

 and chasing and chasing to create

 my own happiness!

 Happiness arranged in

 moments would cut the tree 

under me in a hideous and unfair trick!

 - Perhaps one could still speak

 to the souls of the spiteful-mouthed,

 or would it be better to listen

 in all-enveloping silence?!