Author: Franz Kapus
Through my life there trembles unlamenting suffering dark and deep, without a sigh. Pure as snow the blossoming of my dreams consecrates the stillest of my days.
Often though a question’s gravity cuts across my path. I seem to shrink, pass coldly on as if beside a lake whose waters are too vast for me to measure.
And then a sadness settles, dim, opaque, like the grey of pallid summer nights, shimmered through the stars — now and then — :
love then is what my hands attempt to grasp because I want to say a prayer whose sounds my burning mouth, my lips, cannot bring forth…