if the death touches you
touch it
when it blows on you
blow on your palms rub the palms
and quicken your pace

she whom you will meet
this very day
doesn't like
the strawberries in january


mother gives the matches to son
and two little lamps too
the boy lights them
but the wind blows them out
the boy lights them again
and the wind blows them out again
until the boy begins
to like it


everybody of us already has his dead one
he is waiting for us
and whiles away the time
by being silent

and when we finally
come early in the evening
in a moment it will delightedly
tell the wind about our matches


day you won't find in a calendar
day when all the streets are lit up
in you
day when also the witness moon gets out from the sky
to the bar moon
so let's drink

to a woman
who will come
when you are waiting for her the most


cemetery is a wonderful place
for the rest of my soul
but after death I would also
like to rest in heaven