the panther
the passing bars have made his glance so tired
that eyes no more hold on to anything.
he feels as though there were a thousand bars,
as if behind those thousand bars - no world.
the mellow pace of strong and agile strides,
turning in the tieniest of circles
is like a dance of strength around a center
in which a stately will stands paralyzed.
once in a while the curtains over pupils
open soundlessly - a picture enters,
wanders through the body´s rigid silence -
and in his heart then ceases to exist.