First I think: "Not again"
Second I test my limbs,
Third, albeit weak, a pain
Which I accept.
I interpret it as a sign of life,
Thankful; like specters creeping,
Which disappear into the dark before the day,
The sun rises,
Thus feeling crawls back.
Now it runs its course again,
The old game; I submit myself
And open my eyes.
I breathe deeply into my body of ash.
I wait for the shining white ember.
I want to vindicate myself with it from the old filth
Like no water, no confession can.
I wait for ignition.
Oh, please just give me
The old fire,
This fire back!
In the room which wakes brightly
Tiled pictures, like light falling on a roof,
Or did the light run from a tower down to the moon?
A kaleidoscope in my head.
If the quiet raindrops
Just like fingers tap a window,
Is the place inhabited?
Just listen to how it sounds,
As if one set the loneliness to music.
A question, continuously timid,
Never rewarded with an answer.
Just the same, I see no recognition in the mirror.
The being there is fully unknown.
In those eyes is no brightness and no burning.
We stare at each other, steadfastly.
I await the ignition.
Oh, please just give me the old fire,
This fire back!
I wait for ignition.
Oh, please just give me the old fire,
This fire back!