Walk

My home town …

What makes me sad,

when I walk through the streets?

Every house, every stone,

all known.

Walls have cracks,

plaster crumbling away.

Time has run over it,

has left its mark.

The city has new folds.

Where are the children?

Here the man,

there a woman.

Lowered gaze …

What are they looking at?

Harking for the pulse

of that place, for the heartbeat.

Silence,

stinking to high heaven.

Is everybody deaf?!

The tradition,

the generations.

Where have they gone?

The answer to my „Hello“

remains outstanding.

The stream flows on,

passing the point,

where once stood our climbing tree.

The square, the garbage,

what happened?

Where are the visions,

the dreams?

Grey stones

in depression.

Withered roots …

Bumped into time,

outside, there in front of the doors.

The cry for life

subsides in concrete.

I’m going on!