Sad days
stand in line
wait for their time
to give their greetings
from strange country,
from bare lands.
From the lightbearer,
from the back end of the eternal village,
a sigh of missery arrives
a touch of yearning
I remember my place again:
Happy I may not be
Happy I can not be.
What am I looking for here?
What do I get from here?
Only in my own head
this place
can be build to be better.