The creature is
beneath the sun and the moon,
face of a snake and
the remains of an angel.
Is that all
that's left of me anymore?
Where was I and where was I flying?
The wind that has become stronger
beats the strings of flagpoles
The wind that has become stronger
goes over tree trunks
Wind flows beneath this sky
Looking for its equal
and the tiny human crosses his/her hands
to pray.
But the prayer is
just muttering in the wind
no one will hear it and
if somewhere someday a god is found
it will not recognize me as its child, as its picture.
From the lap of oblivion
to the iron grey sky
flocks of birds rise
when the wind spreads dust over us.
I'm afraid of dying,
no one walks on water here.
I'm afraid of dying,
and I'm afraid of living here.
Beneath this sky wind flows...