I am here, alone. His song crumbles on the ground of my standing.
It must be a dream roaring in my ears.
He longs for silence and I want to turn into music! Too tired to step out of lonely borders.
That is how I become creative. Cycle within cycle, a woman paints, a woman writes.
After so many breakthroughs, all she wants is a good night sleep, away from a full moon and the singing nightingale.
What is ahead? Another alone night, a new poem and an hour break from thirst.
No more song for tonight, closing her eyes…she says.
Be silent, like stones of Geze! Like dark forests of Germany. Just no more of this imaginary heaven.
I want to go back to sleep now, awakening can eat me tomorrow.
Tonight, sleep is a silent treasure!